When I detect a beauty in any of the recesses of nature,
I am reminded by the serene and retired spirit in which it requires to be contemplated, of the inexpressible privacy of life - how silent and unambitious it is. The beauty there is in mosses will have to be considered from the holiest, quietest nook.
My truest, serenest moments are too still for emotion; they have woolen feet.
In all our lives we live under the hill, and if we are not gone we live there still.
To be calm, to be serene!
There is the calmness of the lake when there is not a breath of wind;
there is the calmness of a stagnant ditch. So is it with us.
Sometimes we are clarified and calmed healthily, as we never were before in our lives, not by an opiate, but by some unconscious obedience to the all-just laws,
so that we become like a still lake of purest crystal
and without an effort our depths are revealed to ourselves.
I awoke into a music which no one by me heard.
Whom shall I thank for it? I feel my Maker blessing me.
To the sane man the world is a musical instrument.
The very touch affords an exquisite pleasure.
~ Henry David Thoreau, taken from a journal entry, June 22,1851.