What then remains but that we still should cry for being born, and, being born, to die?

What then remains, but that we still should cry,/ Not to be born, or being born, to die?

It is as natural to die as to be born; and to a little infant, perhaps, the one is as painful as the other

The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.

That things are changed, and that nothing really perishes, and that the sum of matter remains exactly the same, is sufficiently certain.

I had rather believe all the fables in the legends and the Talmud and the Alcoran, than that this universal frame is without a mind