ponder

For the true misanthrope, procreation is an impossibility—as impossible as being offered the ultimate impossibility, which is also the ultimate gift, to have “never been born” at all. If one’s preference on the matters of existence lean toward nothingness—no love nor sorrow, no consciousness, skepticism, no knowledge of this world—then only the truly wretched man, who desires such peace for himself, can bring another into the world to face such a fate (for each potential child, being shown the realities of existence, might also decide it was better to have never been, and is always burdened with such cognizance too late).