One thing is made of another, and nature allows no new creation except at the price of death.

Religious questions have often led to wicked and impious actions.

In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers.

One thing is made of another, and nature allows no new creation except at the price of death.

Nothing can be created out of nothing.

Violence and injury enclose in their net all that do such things, and generally return upon him who began.

I return to the newborn world, and the soft-soil fields, What their first birthing lifted to the shores Of light, and trusted to the wayward winds. First the Earth gave the shimmer of greenery And grasses to deck the hills; then over the meadows The flowering fields are bright with the color of springtime, And for all the trees that shoot into the air.