As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

But there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.

Creation destroys as it goes, throws down one tree for the rise of another. But ideal mankind would abolish death, multiply itself million upon million, rear up city upon city, save every parasite alive, until the accumulation of mere existence is swollen to a horror.

Let us beware of saying that death is the opposite of life. The living being is only a species of the dead, and a very rare species.