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Many an object is not seen, though it falls within the range of our visual ray, because it does not come within the range of our intellectual ray, i.e. we are not looking for it. So, in the largest sense, we find only the world we look for.
What I see is mine.
There is no such thing as pure objective observation. Your observation, to be interesting, i.e. to be significant, must be subjective. The sum of what the writer of what ever class has to report is simply some human experience, whether he be poet or philosopher or man of science. The man of most science is the man most alive, whose life is the greatest event. Senses that take cognizance of outward things merely are of no avail . It matters not where or how far you travel ? the farther commonly the worse ? but how much alive you are. If it is possible to conceive of an event outside to humanity, it is not of the slightest significance, though it were the explosion of a planet. Every important worker will report what life there is in him. It makes no odds into what seeming deserts the poet is born. Though all his neighbors pronounce it a Sahara, it will be a paradise to him; for the desert which we see is the result of the barrenness of our experience.
The question is not what you look at, but what you see.
We must look a long time before we can see.
Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other's eyes for an instant?
Carlyle said that how to observe was to look, but I say that it is rather to see, and the more you look the less you will observe.
You might say of a philosopher that he was in this world as a spectator.
A man may walk abroad & no more see the sky than if he walked under a shed.
That virtue we appreciate is as much ours as another's. We see so much only as we possess.
We cannot see anything unless we are possessed with the idea of it, and then we can hardly see anything else.
Flowers were made to be seen not overlooked.
A fact stated barely is dry. It must be the vehicle of some humanity in order to interest us. . . A man has not seen a thing who has not felt it.
A Note on the Text:
Source: Unless otherwise noted, quotations are from The Writings of Henry David Thoreau (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1906)
November woods (Photographer: Herbert Gleason, from The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, 1906)
Let us consider the way in which we spend our lives. — "Life Without Principle"