Our Mother feedeth thus our little life, That we may in turn feed her with our death

Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.

It's natural to die," he said again. "The fact that we make such a big hullabaloo over it is all because we don't see ourselves as part of nature. We think because we're human we're something above nature."

He smiled at the plant.

"We're not. Everything that gets born, dies.

But who can paint like Nature? Can imagination boast, amid its gay creation, hues like hers?

Always respect Mother Nature. Especially when she weighs 400 pounds and is guarding her baby.

The world rolls round forever like a mill; it grinds out death and life and good and ill; it has no purpose, heart or mind or will.