Let The Bird Sing Without Deciphering The

Every Day, A Little Sadder, A Little Madder. Will Someone Get Me A Ladder?

Crossing A Bare Common, In Snow Puddles At Twilight, Under A Clouded Sky, Without Having In My Thoughts Any Occurrence Of Special Good Fortune, I Have Enjoyed Perfect Exhilaration. I Am Glad To The Brink Of Fear.

But Man Postpones Or Remembers; He Does Not Live In The Present, But With Reverted Eye Laments The Past, Or, Heedless Of The Riches That Surround Him, Stands On Tiptoe To Foresee The Future. He Cannot Be Happy And Strong Until He Too Lives With Nature In The Present, Above Time.

Our Debt To Tradition Through Reading And Conversation Is So Massive, Our Protest So Rare And Insignificant-and This Commonly On The Ground Of Other Reading And Hearing-that In Large Sense, One Would Say There Is No Pure Originality. All Minds Quote. Old And New Make The Warp And Woof Of Every Moment. There Is No Thread That Is Not A Twist Of These Two Strands. By Necessity, By Proclivity, And By Delight, We All Quote. It Is As Difficult To Appropriate The Thoughts Of Others As It Is To Invent.

We Love Force And We Care Very Little How It Is Exhibited.