Pleasant it to behold great encounters of warfare arrayed over the plains, with no part of yours in peril.

There is no place in nature for extinction.

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

So much wrong could religion induce.

Anything made out of destructible matter Infinite time would have devoured before. But if the atoms that make and replenish the world Have endured through the immense span of the past Their natures are immortal-that is clear. Never can things revert to nothingness!

Poor humanity, to saddle the gods with such a responsibility and throw in a vindictive temper. What griefs they hatch for themselves, what festering sores for us, what tears for our prosperity! This is not piety, this oft-repeated show of bowing a veiled head before a graven image; this bustling to every altar; this kow-towing and prostration on the ground with palms outspread before the shrines of the gods; this deluging of vow on vow. True piety lies rather in the power to contemplate the universe with a quiet mind.

Constant dripping hollows out a stone.