The landscape belongs to the person who looks at it..." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Nature magically suits a man to his fortunes, by making them the fruit of his character.

Man's life is a progress, not a station.

The April winds are magical, And thrill our tuneful frames; The garden-walks are passional To bachelors and dames.

Imitation cannot go above its model.

For the time of towns is tolled from the world by funereal chimes, but in nature the universal hours are counted by succeeding tribes of animals and plants, and by growth of joy on joy.

Where dwells the religion? Tell me first where dwells electricity, or motion, or thought or gesture. They do not dwell or stay atall. Electricity cannot be made fast, mortared up and ended, like London Monument, or the Tower, so that you shall know where to find it, and keep it fixed, as the English do with their things, forevermore; it is passing, glancing, gesticular; it is a traveller, a newness, a surprise, a secret which perplexes them, and puts them out.