Look at us, said the violets blooming at her feet, all last winter we slept in the seeming death but read more

Look at us, said the violets blooming at her feet, all last winter we slept in the seeming death but at the right time God awakened us, and here we are to comfort you.

Our nature is the mind. And the mind is our nature.rn

Our nature is the mind. And the mind is our nature.rn

I've always regarded nature as the clothing of God.

I've always regarded nature as the clothing of God.

I've made an odd discovery. Every time I talk to a savant I feel quite sure that happiness is no read more

I've made an odd discovery. Every time I talk to a savant I feel quite sure that happiness is no longer a possibility. Yet when I talk with my gardener, I'm convinced of the opposite.

I trust in Nature for the stable laws
Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant
And Autumn read more

I trust in Nature for the stable laws
Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant
And Autumn garner to the end of time.
I trust in God--the right shall be the right
And other than the wrong, while he endures;
I trust in my own soul, that can perceive
The outward and the inward, Nature's good
And God's.

One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off read more

One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.

Nothing is farther than earth from heaven; nothing is nearer than heaven to earth.

Nothing is farther than earth from heaven; nothing is nearer than heaven to earth.

It's hard for the modern generation to understand Thoreau, who lived beside a pond but didn't own water skis or read more

It's hard for the modern generation to understand Thoreau, who lived beside a pond but didn't own water skis or a snorkel.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
read more

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.