November 16, 1850

 in Thoreau’s Journal:

There is a place whither I should walk today though oftenest I fail to find; when, by accident, I ramble into it, great is my delight. I have stood by my door sometimes half an hour irresolute as to what course I should take…

What shall we do with a man who is afraid of the woods—their solitude & darkness— What salvation is there for him? God is silent & mysterious.

Some of our richest days are those in which no sun shines outwardly, but so much the more a sun shines inwardly. I love nature. I love the landscape…

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The sweet scented life everlasting…
The partridge berry leaves checker the ground…
The era of wild apples will soon be over—

My Journal should be the record of my love. I would write in it only the things I love. My affection for any aspect of the world. What I love to think of. I have no more distinctness or pointedness in my yearnings than an expanding bud—which does indeed point to to flower & fruit to summer & autumn—but is aware of the warm sun & spring influence only.

Photo: November 14, 2016

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