I long for wildness, a nature which I cannot put my foot through, woods where the wood thrush forever sings, where the hours are early morning ones, and there is dew on the grass, and the day is forever unproved, where I might have a fertile unknown for a soil about me.

We discover a new world every time we see the earth again after it has been covered for a season with snow.

Every sentence is the result of a long probation.

This is a delicious evening, when the whole body is one sense, and imbibes delight through every pore.

Perhaps we should never procure a new suit, however ragged or dirty the old, until we have so conducted or enterprised or sailed in some way, that we feel like new men in the old, and that to retain it would be like keeping new wine in old bottles.

As for the dispute about solitude and society, any comparison is impertinent. It is an idling down on the plane at the base of a mountain, instead of climbing steadily to its top.

I trust that some may be as near and dear to Buddha, or Christ, or Swedenborg, who are without the pale of their churches.