I think of no news to tell you. It is a serene summer day here, all above the snow. The hens steal their nests, and I steal theireggs still, as formerly. This is what I do with the hands. Ah, labor,--it is a divine institution, and conversation with many men and hens.
Henry David ThoreauHaving reached the term of his natural life"; Mwould it not be truer to say, Having reached the term of his unnatural life?
Henry David ThoreauTo him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day is a perpetual morning.
Henry David Thoreau