Life Is A Struggle, But Not A

In What Bold Relief Stand Out The Lives Of All Walkers Of The Snow! The Snow Is A Great Tell-tale, And Blabs As Effectually As It Obliterates. I Go Into The Woods, And Know All That Has Happened. I Cross The Fields, And If Only A Mouse Has Visited His Neighbor, The Fact Is Chronicled.

A Man’s Life May Stagnate As Literally As Water May Stagnate, And Just As Motion And Direction Are The Remedy For One, So Purpose And Activity Are The Remedy For The Other.

There Is Hardly A Man On Earth Who Will Take Advice Unless He Is Certain That It Is Positively Bad.

The Rocks Have A History; Gray And Weatherworn, They Are Veterans Of Many Battles; They Have Most Of Them Marched In The Ranks Of Vast Stone Brigades During The Ice Age; They Have Been Torn From The Hills, Recruited From The Mountaintops, And Marshaled On The Plains And In The Valleys; And Now The Elemental War Is Over, There They Lie Waging A Gentle But Incessant Warfare With Time And Slowly, Oh, So Slowly, Yielding To Its Attacks!

The Simplicity Of Winter Has A Deep Moral. The Return Of Nature, After Such A Career Of Splendor And Prodigality, To Habits So Simple And Austere, Is Not Lost Either Upon The Head Or The Heart. It Is The Philosopher Coming Back From The Banquet And The Wine To A Cup Of Water And A Crust Of Bread.