I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks - who had the genius, so to speak, for sauntering: which word is beautifully derived "from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked for charity, under the pretense of going à la Sainte Terre," to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, "There goes a Sainte-Terrer," a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander.

In wildness is the preservation of the world.

We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experience and character.

I learned what it is to live in the open air, and I learned that our lives are domestic in more sense than we think.

After all, I believe it is the style of thought entirely, and the style of expression, which makes the difference in books.

Where there is a brave man, in the thickest of the fight, there is the post of honor.

What is commonly honored with the name of Friendship is no very profound or powerful instinct. Men do not, after all, love their Friends greatly. I do not often see the farmers made seers and wise to the verge of insanity by their Friendship for one another. They are not often transfigured and translated by love in each other's presence. I do not observe them purified, refined, and elevated by the love of a man.