in Thoreau’s Journal:

If you sit at an open attic window almost anywhere, about the 20th of September, you will see many a milkweed down go sailing by on a level with you, — though commonly it has lost its freight, —notwithstanding that you may not know of any of these plants growing in your neighborhood.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

And next the redness became a sort of yellowish or fawn colored light & the sun now set fire to the edges of the broken cloud which had hung over the horizon—& they glowed like burning turf.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

While the grass is fresh the earth is in its vigor. The greenness of the grass is the best symptom or evidence of the earth’s youth or health. Perhaps it will be found that when the grass ceases to be fresh & green or after June—the birds have ceased to sing—& the fireflies too no longer in myriads sparkle in the meadows—

in Thoreau’s Journal:

A certain refinement & civilization in nature which increases with the wildness. The civilization that consists with wildness. The light that is in night. A smile as in a dream on the face of the sleeping lake.  There is light enough to show what we see—what night has to exhibit—any more would obscure these objects.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

In the woods near the top the Vib. lantanoides Hobble bush-Am. in fruit—mostly large & red but the ripe dark blue. or black like the V. nudum— what I have formerly falsely called Moose-berry.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

Some galls on the oak an inch in diameter like cast steel-soap balls–quite handsome. Some smaller and redder….

in Thoreau’s Journal:

See one or 2 lilies yet.

The fragrance of a grape-vine branch, with ripe grapes on it, which I have brought home, fills the whole house. This fragrance is exceedingly rich, surpassing the flavor of any grape….

Would it not be worth the while to devote one day each year to collecting with pains the different kinds of asters––perhaps about this time––and another to the goldenrods?

in Thoreau’s Journal:

The Soapwort gentian out abundantly in Flints-Bridge Lane—ap. for a week—a surprisingly deep faintly purplish blue….it has the flowering of the sky.  The sky has descended & kissed the earth….Why come these blue flowers thus late in the year.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

It is always essential that we love to do what we are doing, do it with a heart. The maturity of the mind, however, may perchance consist with a certain dryness.

in Thoreau’s Journal:

I see white lilies wide open at 2: 30 P. M. They are half open even at 5 P. M. in many places this moist cloudy day and thus late in their season.