methinks I should hear with indifference if a trustworthy messenger were to inform me that the sun drowned himself last night
3.18.2008
Play It Again
Thoreau's Journal: 18-Mar-1858
Each new year is a surprise to us. We find that we had virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when we hear it again it is remembered like a dream, reminding us of a previous state of existence. How happens it that the associations it awakens are always pleasing, never saddening; reminiscences of our sanest hours? The voice of nature is always encouraging.
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