I did not know that she could go away, and take our 
lives with her, yet leave our dull bodies behind...
How am I to comprehend this? How am I to have it?
Why am I robbed, and who is benefited?
- Mark Twain

"Did you see Death go by with my little child?"
asked the mother. "Yes." said the blackthorn bush.
"But I shall not tell you which way he went unless
you warm me against your heart - I am freezing to 
death; I am stiff with ice." The mother pressed the
blackthorn bush against her heart to warm it, and
the thorns stabbed so deep into her flesh that great
drops of red blood flowed. So warm was the mother's
heart that the blackthorn bush blossomed and put
forth green leaves on that dark winter's night. And
it told her the way to go.
- Hans Christian Andersen