Henry David Thoreau Quotes

Yon rosebuds in the morning-dew, how pure amang the leaves sae green!

The whole moon and the entire sky are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass.

Nature is goodness crystallized.

What if you have seen it before, ten thousand times over? An apple tree in full blossom is like a message, sent fresh from heaven to earth, of purity and beauty.

White Pond and Walden are great crystals on the surface of the earth, Lakes of Light.... They are too pure to have a market value;they contain no muck. How much more beautiful than our lives, how much more transparent than our characters are they! We never learned meanness of them.

I think flowers are very beautiful things. Very nice and innocent things. They don't harm anybody.

To me at least was never evening yet, but seemed far beautifuller than its day.

The dew-bead Gem of earth and sky begotten.

I'm looking forward to becoming older and quieter.

Upon the purple tree-tops far away, and on the green height near at hand up which the shades were slowly creeping, there was an equal hush. Between the real landscape and its shadow in the water, there was no division; both were so untroubled and clear, and, while so fraught with solemn mystery of life and death, so hopefully reassuring to the gazer's soothed heart, because so tenderly and mercifully beautiful.

Come out of the azure. Love the day. Do not leave the sky out of your landscape.

Flowers belong to Fairyland: the flowers and the birds and the butterflies are all that the world has kept of its golden age--the only perfectly beautiful things on earth--joyous, innocent, half divine--useless, say they who are wiser than God.

A bird is joy incarnate.

Something in her small eyes caught the sunlight and glistened, like a glacier on the faraway face of a mountain.

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art.

I'll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew.

Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.

The world was so beautiful when regarded like this, without searching, so simply, in such a childlike way. Moons and stas were beautiful, beautiful were bank and stream, forest and rocks, goat and gold-bug, flower and butterfly. So lovely, so delightful to go through the world this way, so like a child, awake, open to what is near, without distrust.

If a rainbow makes a sound, or a flower as it grows, that was the sound of her laughter.

It's all still there in heart and soul. The walk, the hills, the sky, the solitary pain and pleasure-they will grow larger, sweeter, lovelier in the days and years to come.

Way across the country where the hillside mountains glide, the dynamo of your smile caressed the barefoot virgin child.

The late evening is the time of times. Then with that unearthly beauty before one it is not hard to realise how far one has to go. To write something that will be worthy of that rising moon, that pale light.

Sunshine on the water looks so lovely

No writing on the solitary, meditative dimensions of life can say anything that has not already been said better by the wind in the pine trees.

When her muzzle grew more white than brown, the chipmunk forgot that she and the squirrel had had nothing to talk about. She forgot the definition of "jazz" as well and came to think of it as every beautiful thing she had ever failed to appreciate: the taste of warm rain; the smell of a baby; the din of a swollen river, rushing past her tree and onward to infinity.