He had never heard of immunotherapy versus chemotherapy



Now Shakspeare became his password. From all sides, individual volumes of friends were borrowed, bought by antiquarians. The father reluctantly followed this new twist of youthful enthusiasm. He was an admirer of Goethe, but he was very mistrustful of Shakspeare. Like almost all the older generation, he saw in him a savage, semi-barbarous genius, found his tragedy raw and bloody, his jokes tasteless, the whole incomprehensible and confused. One day he met the son again engrossed in a book. He leaned over his shoulder. It was Shakspeare’s “measure of measure.” Angrily he broke into the words: “Well, that was just missing, to make you completely crazy!” Ludwig jumped up from his seat and replied quickly composed: “Allow, dear father, just like here is, I always thought, a poem must be written. That’s what I’ve been looking for a long time. “Bass replied the father:” Oh, you are and you remain a stupid boy! “

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