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It is rumored that in the fall the cows here are sometimes fed on cod’s heads! The godlike part of the cod, which, like the human head, is curiously and wonderfully made, forsooth has but little less brain in it,—coming to such an end! to be craunched by cows! I felt my own skull crack from sympathy. What if the heads of men were to be cut off to feed the cows of a superior order of beings who inhabit the islands in the ether? Away goes your fine brain, the house of thought and instinct, to swell the cud of a ruminant animal!
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
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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
—George Eliot [Mary Ann (or Marian)