Miscarriages are labor, miscarriages are birth. To consider them less dishonors the woman whose womb has held life, however briefly.

Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave.

Even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks towards us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh.

Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye.

The road to the sacred leads through the secular.