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.

For things to change, we must change.

October is the month for painted leaves. Their rich glow now flashes round the world. As fruits and leaves and the day itself acquire a bright tint just before they fall, so the year near its setting. October is its sunset sky; November the later twilight.

I have no designs on society, or nature, or God. I am simply what I am, or I begin to be that. I live in the present. I only remember the past, and anticipate the future. I love to live.

Men rush to California and Australia as if the true gold were to be found in that direction but that is to go to the very opposite extreme to where it lies. They go prospecting farther and farther away from the true lead, and are most unfortunate when they think themselves most successful.

If there is any hell more unprincipled than our rulers, and we, the ruled, I feel curious to see it.

That is mere sentimentality that lies abed by day and thinks itself white, far from the tan and callus of experience.