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


rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the
spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there,
and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace. The town’s poor seem
to me often to live the most independent lives of any. Maybe they
are simply great enough to receive without misgiving. Most think
that they are above being supported by the town; but it oftener
happens that they are not above supporting themselves by dishonest
means, which should be more disreputable. Cultivate poverty like a
garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble yourself much to get new
things, whether clothes or friends. Turn the old; return to them.
Things do not change; we change. Sell your clothes and keep your
thoughts. God will see that you do not want society. If I were
confined to a corner of a garret all my days, like a spider, the world
would be just as large to me while I had my thoughts about me. The
philosopher said: "From an army of three divisions one can take
away its general, and put it in disorder; from the man the most abject
and vulgar one cannot take away his thought." Do not seek so
anxiously to be developed, to subject yourself to many influences to
be played on; it is all dissipation. Humility like darkness reveals the
heavenly lights. The shadows of poverty and meanness gather
around us, "and lo! creation widens to our view." We are often
reminded that if there were bestowed on us the wealth of Croesus,
our aims must still be the same, and our means essentially the same.
Moreover, if you are restricted in your range by poverty, if you
cannot buy books and newspapers, for instance, you are but confined
to the most significant and vital experiences; you are compelled to
deal with the material which yields the most sugar and the most
starch. It is life near the bone where it is sweetest. You are defended
from being a trifler. No man loses ever on a lower level by
magnanimity on a higher. Superfluous wealth can buy superfluities
only. Money is not required to buy one necessary of the soul.

I live in the angle of a leaden wall, into whose composition was
poured a little alloy of bell-metal. Often, in the repose of my mid-
day, there reaches my ears a confused tintinnabulum from without. It
is the noise of my contemporaries. My neighbors tell me of their
adventures with famous gentlemen and ladies, what notabilities they
met at the dinner-table; but I am no more interested in such things
than in the contents of the Daily Times. The interest and the
conversation are about costume and manners chiefly; but a goose is a
goose still, dress it as you will. They tell me of California and Texas,
of England and the Indies, of the Hon. Mr.-- of Georgia or of
Massachusetts, all transient and fleeting phenomena, till I am ready
to leap from their court-yard like the Mameluke bey. I delight to
come to my bearings-not walk in procession with pomp and parade,
in a conspicuous place, but to walk even with the Builder of the
universe, if I may-not to live in this restless, nervous, bustling, trivial
Nineteenth Century, but stand or sit thoughtfully while it goes by.
What are men celebrating? They are all on a committee of
arrangements, and hourly expect a speech from somebody. God is
only the president of the day, and Webster is his orator. I love to
weigh, to settle, to gravitate toward that which most strongly and
rightfully attracts me;- not hang by the beam of the scale and try to
weigh less-not suppose a case, but take the case that is; to travel the
only path I can, and that on which no power can resist me. It affords
me no satisfaction to commerce to spring an arch before I have got a
solid foundation. Let us not play at kittly-benders. There is a solid
bottom everywhere. We read that the traveller asked the boy if the
swamp before him had a hard bottom. The boy replied that it had.
But presently the traveller’s horse sank in up to the girths, and he
observed to the boy, "I thought you said that this bog had a hard
bottom." "So it has," answered the latter, "but you have not got half
way to it yet." So it is with the bogs and quicksands of society; but
he is an old boy that knows it. Only what is thought, said, or done at
a certain rare coincidence is good. I would not be one of those who
will foolishly drive a nail into mere lath and plastering; such a deed
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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library - PinkMonkey.com-Walden by Henry David Thoreau



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