Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.

When death comes it is never our tenderness that we repent from, but our severity.

When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity.

But human experience is usually paradoxical, that means incongruous with the phrases of current talk or even current philosophy.

Is it not rather what we expect in men, that they should have numerous strands of experience lying side by side and never compare them with each other?