in Thoreau’s Journal:
I anticipate a more thorough sympathy with nature when my thigh bones shall strew the ground like the boughs which the wind has scattered. These troublesome humours will flower into early anemones, and perhaps in the very lachrymal sinus, nourished by its juices, some young pine or oak will strike root.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/24/magazine/the-living-dead.html?
