Although the son of a poor tradesman, Nature had given me a thirst for knowledge, a love for science and art.

On account of it I passed for a stupid idler in the family, who would not contribute to his own support.

Occupation with books was accounted idleness and laziness by my father.

I was driven to work with blows and ill-treatment; and, that I might the sooner equal my father as a good shoemaker, I was bound to the stool near his own.
During the long, fearful days I was forced to sit and draw the pitched, offensive thread through the leather, and when my arms were lame, and sank weary at my side, then I was invigorated to renewed exertion with blows.

Finally, with the courage of despair, I fled from this life of torture.