The Journal of Henry David Thoreau, 1837-1861

It matters not whether they visit my mind or yours,—only that it come from heaven. A meteorological journal of the mind. You shall observe what occurs in your latitude, I in mine.

The really efficient laborer will be found not to crowd his day with work, but will saunter to his task surrounded by a wide halo of ease and leisure. There will be a wide margin for relaxation to his day. He is only earnest to secure the kernels of time, and does not exaggerate the value of the husk. Why should the hen set all day? She can lay but

Across the surface of every lake there sweeps a hushed music.

The most positive life that history notices has been a constant retiring out of life, a wiping one’s hands of it, seeing how mean it is, and having nothing to do with it.

Certainly it is a distinct profession to rescue from oblivion and to fix the sentiments and thoughts which visit all men more or less generally, that the contemplation of the unfinished picture may suggest its harmonious completion. Associate reverently and as much as you can with your loftiest thoughts. Each thought that is welcomed and recorded i

Perchance as we grow old we cease to spring with the spring, and we are indifferent to the succession of years, and they go by without epoch as months. Woe be to us when we cease to form new resolutions on the opening of a new year!

Though I should front an object for a lifetime I should only see what it concerned me to see.

We are armed with language adequate to describe each leaf in the field, or at least to distinguish it from each other, but not to describe a human character.

Decayed literature makes the richest of all soils.