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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - PinkMonkey.com-Walden by Henry David Thoreau


would keep me awake nights. Give me a hammer, and let me feel for
the furring. Do not depend on the putty. Drive a nail home and
clinch it so faithfully that you can wake up in the night and think of
your work with satisfaction-a work at which you would not be
ashamed to invoke the Muse. So will help you God, and so only.
Every nail driven should be as another rivet in the machine of the
universe, you carrying on the work.

Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth. I sat at a
table where were rich food and wine in abundance, and obsequious
attendance, but sincerity and truth were not; and I went away hungry
from the inhospitable board. The hospitality was as cold as the ices. I
thought that there was no need of ice to freeze them. They talked to
me of the age of the wine and the fame of the vintage; but I thought
of an older, a newer, and purer wine, of a more glorious vintage,
which they had not got, and could not buy. The style, the house and
grounds and "entertainment" pass for nothing with me. I called on
the king, but he made me wait in his hall, and conducted like a man
incapacitated for hospitality. There was a man in my neighborhood
who lived in a hollow tree. His manners were truly regal. I should
have done better had I called on him.

How long shall we sit in our porticoes practising idle and musty
virtues, which any work would make impertinent? As if one were to
begin the day with long-suffering, and hire a man to hoe his
potatoes; and in the afternoon go forth to practise Christian
meekness and charity with goodness aforethought! Consider the
China pride and stagnant self-complacency of mankind. This
generation inclines a little to congratulate itself on being the last of
an illustrious line; and in Boston and London and Paris and Rome,
thinking of its long descent, it speaks of its progress in art and
science and literature with satisfaction. There are the Records of the
Philosophical Societies, and the public Eulogies of Great Men! It is
the good Adam contemplating his own virtue. "Yes, we have done
great deeds, and sung divine songs, which shall never die"- that is, as
long as we can remember them. The learned societies and great men
of Assyria-where are they? What youthful philosophers and
experimentalists we are! There is not one of my read-ers who has yet
lived a whole human life. These may be but the spring months in the
life of the race. If we have had the seven-years’ itch, we have not
seen the seventeen-year locust yet in Concord. We are acquainted
with a mere pellicle of the globe on which we live. Most have not
delved six feet beneath the surface, nor leaped as many above it. We
know not where we are. Beside, we are sound asleep nearly half our
time. Yet we esteem ourselves wise, and have an established order
on the surface. Truly, we are deep thinkers, we are ambitious spirits!
As I stand over the insect crawling amid the pine needles on the
forest floor, and endeavoring to conceal itself from my sight, and ask
myself why it will cherish those humble thoughts, and bide its head
from me who might, perhaps, be its benefactor, and impart to its race
some cheering information, I am reminded of the greater Benefactor
and Intelligence that stands over me the human insect.

There is an incessant influx of novelty into the world, and yet we
tolerate incredible dulness. I need only suggest what kind of sermons
are still listened to in the most enlightened countries. There are such
words as joy and sorrow, but they are only the burden of a psalm,
sung with a nasal twang, while we believe in the ordinary and mean.
We think that we can change our clothes only. It is said that the
British Empire is very large and respectable, and that the United
States are a first-rate power. We do not believe that a tide rises and
falls behind every man which can float the British Empire like a
chip, if he should ever harbor it in his mind. Who knows what sort of
seventeen-year locust will next come out of the ground? The
government of the world I live in was not framed, like that of
Britain, in after-dinner conversations over the wine.
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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - PinkMonkey.com-Walden by Henry David Thoreau



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