With all your science can you tell me how it is, and when it is, that light comes into the soul?

He who receives an injury is to some extent an accomplice of the wrong-doer.

Methinks my own soul must be a bright invisible green.

How shall we account for our pursuits, if they are original? We get the language with which to describe our various lives out of acommon mint.

In my walks, I would fain return to my senses. What business have I in the woods if I am thinking of something out of the woods?

As I love nature, as I love singing birds, and gleaming stubble, and flowing rivers, and morning and evening, and summer and winter, I love thee, my Friend.

Even the best things are not equal to their fame.