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.

I have no ill will in my heart against anybody in this world.

Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.

You may think you die the moment your life ends. You may be mistaken. You actually die the moment you believe or act living forever.

Once in a stately passion / I cried with desperate grief,/ 'O Lord, my heart is black with guile,/ Of sinners I am chief.'"

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