Whenever anything changes and quits its proper limits, this change is at once the death of that which was before.

Do we not see all humans unaware Of what they want, and always searching everywhere, And changing place, as if to drop the load they bear?

[N]ature repairs one thing from another and allows nothing to be born without the aid of another's death.

How many evils have flowed from religion.

Huts they made then, and fire, and skins for clothing, And a woman yielded to one man in wedlock... ... Common, to see the offspring they had made; The human race began to mellow then. Because of fire their shivering forms no longer Could bear the cold beneath the covering sky.

Though the dungeon, the scourge, and the executioner be absent, the guilty mind can apply the goad and scorch with blows.

From the midst of the very fountain of pleasure, something of bitterness arises to vex us in the flower of enjoyment.