Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others pain And perish in our own.

Agnosticism is the everlasting perhaps.

In all change, well looked into, the germinal good out-veils the apparent ill.

Deep in my heart subsides the infrequent word, And there dies slowly throbbing like a wounded bird.

Babies breathe a lot more rapidly than adults do, and what's more, they're also growing quickly and so they're absorbing lots more into the body and they're more fragile in terms of development and so on.

The desolation and terror of, for the first time, realizing that the mother can lose you, or you her, and your own abysmal loneliness and helplessness without her.

So for thy spirit did devise Its Maker seemly garniture, Of its own essence parcel pure.-- From grave simplicities a dress, And reticent demureness, And love encinctured with reserve; Which the woven vesture would subserve. For outward robes in their ostents Should show the soul's habiliments. Therefore I say,--Thou'rt fair even so, But better Fair I use to know.