Death itself to the reflecting mind is less serious than marriage. The older plant is cut down that the younger may have room to flourish; a few tears may drop into the loosened soil, and buds and blossoms spring over it. Death is not even a blow; is not even a pulsation, but a pause. But marriage unrolls the awful scroll of numberless generations. Health, genius, honor, are the words inscribed on some; on others are disease, fatuity and infamy.
|From Walter Savage Landor, A Biography by John Forster|