January 5, 1856

in Thoreau’s Journal: 


What a world we live in, where myriads of these little disks, so beautiful to the most prying eye, are whirled down on every traveler’s coat––the observant and the unobservant––on the restless squirrel’s fur, on the far-stretching fields and forests, the wooded dells and the mountain tops. Far, far away from the haunts of men, they roll down some little slope, fall over and come to their bearings, and melt or lose their beauty in the mass, ready anon to swell some little rill with their contribution, and so, at last the universal ocean from which they came.