How sweet it would be to treat men and things, for an hour, for just what they are!

What avails it that another loves you, if he does not understand you? Such love is a curse.

The Indian's intercourse with Nature is at least such as admits of the greatest independence of each.

I am no more lonely than the loon in the pond that laughs so loud, or than Walden Pond itself. What company has that lonely lake,I pray?

They were pleasant spring days, in which the winter of man's discontent was thawing as well as the earth, and the life that had lain torpid began to stretch itself.

Faint heart never won true friend. O my friend, may it come to pass, once, that when you are my friend I may be yours.

All the past is here, present to be tried; let it approve itself if it can.