In few countries do they enjoy so fine a contrast of summer and winter. We really have four seasons, each incredible to the other. Winter cannot be mistaken for summer here. Though I see the boat turned up on the shore, and half buried under snow, as I walk over the invisible river, summer is far away with its rustling reeds.
in Thoreau’s Journal:
In winter we will think brave, hardy, and most native thoughts. Then the tender summer birds are flown.
in Thoreau’s Journal
It is surprising how much room there is in nature if a man will follow his proper path.