To make his horror complete, Caesar, pressed to the foot of a statue by the impatient daggers of his friends, discovers among the blades and faces the face of Marcus Junius Brutus, his protegé, perhaps sin son, and ceasing to defend himself he exclaims: «You too, my son!» Shakespeare and Quevedo revive the pathetic cry.

Destiny takes pleasure in repetition, variants, symmetries: nineteen centuries later, in the south Province of Buenos Aires, a gaucho is attacked by other gauchos. As he falls he recognizes an adopted son of his and says to him with gentle reproof and slow surprise (these word must be heard, not reaad), «Pero che!» He is being killed, and he does not know he is dying so that a scene may be repeated.

Jorge Luis Borges