And so the seasons went rolling on into summer, as one rambles into higher and higher grass.—Walden
At the end of winter, there is a season in which we are daily expecting spring, and finally a day when it arrives.—Journal, 8 March 1853
Do we detect the reason why we also did not die on the approach of spring?—Journal, 9 April 1856
Even a little shining bud which lies sleeping behind its twig and dreaming of spring, perhaps half concealed by ice, is object enough.—Journal, 10 January 1856
How imperceptibly the first springing takes place!—Journal, 3 March 1859
How silent are the footsteps of Spring!—Journal, 30 March 1856
I am no more lonely than the loon in the pond that laughs so loud, or than Walden Pond itself. What company has that lonely lake, I pray? And yet it has not the blue devils, but the blue angels in it, in the azure tint of its waters. The sun is alone, except in thick weather, when there sometimes appear to be two, but one is a mock sun. God is alone,—but the devil, he is far from being alone; he sees a great deal of company; he is legion. I am no more lonely than a single mullein or dandelion in a pasture, or a bean leaf, or a sorrel, or a horse-fly, or a humble-bee. I am no more lonely than the Mill Brook, or a weathercock, or the northstar, or the south wind, or an April shower, or a January thaw, or the first spider in a new house.—Walden
I am reminded of spring by the quality of the air . . . It is a natural resurrection, an experience of immortality.—Journal, 24 February 1852
I love to see a clear crystalline water flowing out of a swamp over white sand and decayed wood, spring-like.—Journal, 18 July 1852
If a man do not revive with nature in the spring, how shall he revive when a white-collared priest prays for him? —Journal, 20 March 1858
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