In our play we reveal what kind of people we are - Ovid

My soul would sing of metamorphoses.
But since, o gods, you were the source of these
bodies becoming other bodies, breathe
your breath into my book of changes: may
the song I sing be seamless as its way
weaves from the world's beginning to our day.

No species remains constant: that great renovator of matter
Nature, endlessly fashions new forms from old: there’s nothing in the whole universe that perishes, believe me; rather it renews and varies its substance. What we describe as birth is no more than incipient change from a prior state, while dying
is merely to quit it. Though the parts may be transported hither and thither, the sum of all matter is constant.

Omnia mutantur, nihil interit (everything changes, nothing perishes).