Henry David Thoreau:
Born as David Henry Thoreau.
(Concord (Massachusetts), 12 July 1817 – there, 6 May 1862). American essayist, teacher, social philosopher, naturalist and poet.
The question is not what you look at, but what you see.
Experience is in the fingers and head. The heart is inexperienced. –
If one advances confidently in the direction of his dream, and endeavors to live the life with he has imagined, he will meet with a succes unexpected in common hours.
The thinnest yellow light of November is more warming and exhilarating than any wine they tell of. The mite which November contributes becomes equal in value to the bounty of July.
You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.
October is the month of 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 nears its setting. October is its sunset sky; November the later twilight.
We can never have enough of nature.
Happily we bask in this warm September sun, which illuminates all creatures.
All perception of truth is the detection of an analogy.
In August, the large masses of berries, which, when in flower, had attracted many wild bees, gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, and by their weight, again bent down and broke their tender limbs.
Happiness is like a butterfly; the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder.
What’s the use of a fine house if you haven’t got a tolerable planet to put it on?
There are two seasons when the leaves are in their glory—their green and perfect youth in June and this their ripe old age.
Not ’till June can the grass be said to be waving in the fields. When the frogs dream, and the grass waves, and the buttercups toss their heads, and the heat disposes to bathe in the ponds and streams, then is summer begun.
This is June, the month of grass and leaves. Already the aspens are trembling again, and a new summer is offered me.
It is dry, hazy June weather. We are more of the earth, farther from heaven these days.
Truths and roses have thorns about them.
I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.
