March 22, 1840. While I bask in the sun on the shores of Walden Pond, by this heat and this rustle I am absolved from all obligation to the past. The council of nations may reconsider their votes. The grating of a pebble annuls them.
March 22, 1842. Nothing can be more useful to a man than a determination not to be hurried.
I have not succeeded if I have an antagonist who fails. It must be humanity's success.
I cannot think nor utter my thoughts unless I have infinite room. The cope of heaven is not too high, the sea is not too deep, for him who would unfold a great thought. It must feed me, and warm and clothe me. It must be an entertainment to which my whole nature is invited. I must know that the gods are to be my fellow guests.
March 22, 1853. As soon as those spring mornings arrive in which the birds sing, I am sure to be an early riser, I am waked by my genius, I wake to inaudible melodies, and am surprised to find myself awaiting the dawn in so serene and joyful and expectant a mood. I have an appointment with Spring. She comes to the window to wake me, and I go forth an hour or two earlier than usual. It is by especial favor that I am walked, not rudely, but
