Henry David Thoreau

Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.

I was more independent than any farmer in Concord, for I was not anchored to a house or farm, but could follow the bent of my genius, which is a very crooked one, every moment.

I have thought there was some advantage even in death, by which we mingle with the herd of common men.

Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?

It is usually the imagination that is wounded first, rather than the heart; it being much more sensitive.

Our moments of inspiration are not lost though we have no particular poem to show for them; for those experiences have left an indelible impression, and we are ever and anon reminded of them.

This world is but a canvas to our imagination.

If it is surely the means to the highest end we know, can any work be humble or disgusting? Will it not rather be elevating as a ladder, the means by which we are translated?

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.

It is better to have your head in the clouds, and know where you are... than to breathe the clearer atmosphere below them, and think that you are in paradise.

Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.