The heart is forever inexperienced.

Every New Englander might easily raise all his own breadstuffs in this land of rye and Indian corn, and not depend on distant andfluctuating markets for them. Yet so far are we from simplicity and independence that, in Concord, fresh and sweet meal is rarely sold in the shops, and hominy and corn in a still coarser form are hardly used by any.

The nonchalance and dolce-far-niente air of nature and society hint at infinite periods in the progress of mankind.

Surely joy is the condition of life.

We never exchange more than three words with a Friend in our lives on that level to which our thoughts and feelings almost habitually rise.

Money is not required to buy one necessity of the soul.

WE begin to die not in our sense or extremities, but in our divine faculties.