You must believe that I know before you can tell me. - Henry David Thoreau

It is pleasant to walk over the beds of these fresh, crisp, and rustling leaves. How beautifully they go to their graves! how gently lay themselves down and turn to mould! —painted of a thousand hues, and fit to make the beds of the living. So they troop to their last resting-place, light and frisky.

One cannot too soon forget his errors and misdemeanors. To dwell long upon them is to add to the offense. Repentance and sorrow can only be displaced by something better, which is as free and original as if they had not been.

It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.