in Thoreau’s Journal:
Rudbeckia—the small one—still fresh—
August 26, 1858
Each humblest plant, or weed, as we call it, stands there to express some thought or mood of ours, and yet how long it stands in vain! I have walked these Great Fields so many Augusts and never yet distinctly recognized the purple companions that I have there. I have brushed against them and trampled them down, forsooth, and now at last they have, as it were, risen up and blessed me. Beauty and true wealth are always cheap and despised. Heaven, or paradise, might be defined as the place which men avoid.