The virtue which we appreciate, we to some extent appropriate.

There is no just and serene criticism as yet.

East of my bean-field, across the road, lived Cato Ingraham, slave of Duncan Ingraham, Esquire, gentleman, of Concord village, whobuilt his slave a house, and gave him permission to live in Walden Woods;MCato, not Uticensis, but Concordiensis. Some say that he was a Guinea Negro. There are a few who remember his little patch among the walnuts, which he let grow up till he should be old and need them; but a younger and whiter speculator got them at last. He too, however, occupies an equally narrow house at present.

Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her.

He may travel who can subsist on the wild fruits and game of the most cultivated country.

For a man needs only to be turned around once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost...Not 'til we are lost do we begin to find ourselves.

Oh to reach the point of death and realize one has not lived at all.