Only in their saner moments do men hear the crickets. It is balm to the philosopher. It tempers his thoughts.
—Journal, 22 May 1854Only make something to take the place of something, and men will behave as it it was the very thing they wanted.
—A Week on the Concord and Merrimack RiversOnly that traveling is good which reveals to me the value of home and enables me to enjoy it better.
—Journal, 11 March 1856Only the spring sun will soften the heart of this restless monster, when, commonly, it is too late.
—Journal, 11 February 1859Our circumstances answer to our expectations and the demand of our natures.
—A Week on the Concord and Merrimack RiversOur inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things. They are but improved means to an unimproved end . . .
—WaldenOur life is frittered away by detail. An honest man has hardly need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes, and lump the rest. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb-nail . . . Simplify, simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion.
—WaldenOur most beautiful fern, and most suitable for wreaths or garlands. It is rare.
—Journal, 30 July 1853Our mother’s faith has not grown with her experience. Her experience has been too much for her. The lesson of life was too hard for her to learn.
—A Week on the Concord and Merrimack RiversOur reflections had already acquired a historical remoteness from the scenes we had left, and we ourselves essayed to sing.
—A Week on the Concord and Merrimack RiversOur true character silently underlies all our words and actions, as the granite underlies the other strata.
—Journal, 3 May 1841Our whole life is startlingly moral. There is never an instant’s truce between virtue and vice. Goodness is the only investment that never fails.
—WaldenPainted by the frosts, some a uniform clear bright yellow, or red, or crimson, as if their spheres had regularly revolved, and enjoyed the influence of the sun on all sides alike,—some with the faintest pink blush imaginable,—some brindled with deep red streaks like a cow, or with hundreds of fine blood-red rays running regularly from the stem-dimple to the blossom end, like meridional lines, on a straw-colored ground,—some touched with a greenish rust, like a fine lichen, here and there, with crimson blotches or eyes more or less confluent and fiery when wet,—and others gnarly, and freckled or peppered all over on the stem side with fine crimson spots on a white ground, as if accidentally sprinkled from the brush of Him who paints the autumn leaves.
—"Wild Apples"Perchance, in the afternoon of such a day, when the water is perfectly calm and full of reflections, I paddle gently down the main stream, and, turning up the Assabet, reach a quiet cove, where I unexpectedly find myself surrounded by myriads of leaves, like fellow-voyagers, which seem to have the same purpose, or want of purpose, with myself.
—"Autumnal Tints"Perhaps an instinct survives through the intensest actual love, which prevents entire abandonment and devotion, and makes the most ardent lover a little reserved. It is the anticipation of change.
—Thoreau to H.G.O. Blake, 23 September 1852Perhaps the hunter is the greatest friend of the animals hunted, not excepting the Humane Society.
—Walden