O past! O happy life! O songs of joy! In the air, in the woods, over fields,...
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Rough wind, that moanest loudGrief too sad for songWild wind, when sullen cloudKnells all the night longSad storm, whose tears are vain,Bare woods, whose branches strain,Deep caves and dreary main, - Wail, for the world's wrong
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I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
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Leave the beaten track occasionally and dive into the woods. Every time you do so you will be certain to find something that you have never seen before. Follow it up, explore all around it, and before you know it, you will have something worth thinking about to occupy your mind. All really big discoveries are the results of thought.
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Leave everything. Leave Dada. Leave your wife. Leave your mistress. Leave your hopes and fears. Leave your children in the woods. Leave the substance for the shadow. Leave your easy life, leave what you are given for the future. Set off on the roads.
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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit
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Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
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Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land.
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There is a great solitude about such a shore. The woods are never solitary- they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery- we may only wander, awed and spell-bound, on the outer fringe of it. The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only- a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.
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You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen - on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become accquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made are not more real, or more impossible to be displaced by your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. To the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But in this separation, I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm. Let me feel now what sharp distress I may.
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There have been as many varieties of socialists as there are wild birds that fly in the woods and sometimes go up and on through the clouds.
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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
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Now stamp the Lord's Prayer on a grain of rice, A Bible-leaved of all the written woods...
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In the fields and woods more than anything else all things come to those who wait, because all things are on the move, and are sure sooner or later to come your way. To absorb a thing is better than to learn it, and we absorb what we enjoy. We learn things at school; we absorb them in the fields and woods. When we look upon Nature with fondness and appreciation, she meets us halfway and takes a deeper hold on us than when studiously conned. Hence I say the way of knowledge of Nature is the way of love and enjoyment, and is more surely found in the open air than in the school room or the laboratory.
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A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A DOE
Unbearably lovely music is heard as the curtain rises, and we see the woods on a summer afternoon. A fawn dances on and nibbles slowly at some leaves. He drifts lazily through the soft foliage. Soon he starts coughing and drops dead.
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Best hitting coach in baseball, ... He has this way of communicating and getting things through to you. We look at what we're doing like what Tiger Woods went through, revamping the swing. He took a few steps back and one step forward.
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The beauty and completeness of a wild apple tree living its own life in the woods is heartily acknowledged by all those who have been so happy as to form its acquaintance. The fine wild piquancy of its fruit is unrivaled, but in the great question of quantity as human food wild apples are found wanting. Man, therefore, takes the tree from the woods, manures and prunes and grafts,plans and guesses, adds a little of this and that, selects and rejects, until apples of every conceivable size and softness are produced, like nut galls in response to the irritating punctures of insects. Orchard apples are to me the most eloquent words that culture had ever spoken, but they reflect no imperfection upon Nature's spicy crab.
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Every walk to the woods is a religious rite, every bath in the stream is a saving ordinance. Communion service is at all hours, and the bread and wine are from the heart and marrow of Mother Earth.
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We thought we would do the Tiger Woods bit, because he always wears red on the final day of a tournament.
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Thus was my first year's life in the woods completed; and the second year was similar to it. I finally left Walden September 6th, 1847.
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The Solitary answered: Such a Form Full well I recollect. We often crossed Each other's path; but, as the Intruder seemed Fondly to prize the silence which he kept, And I as willingly did cherish mine, We met, and passed, like shadows. I have heard, From my good Host, that being crazed in brain By unrequited love, he scaled the rocks, Dived into caves, and pierced the matted woods, In hope to find some virtuous herb of power To cure his malady!
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I hung in there well. I didn't play particularly well. I hit a lot of poor drives, and when I drove the ball well I continued to drive it in the first cut (of rough). It was kind of frustrating because nothing really seemed to get the momentum going. When I did get the momentum going, like on Sunday, I made a mistake.
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I thought (old) 7 was a great risk-reward hole. You could hit driver. You could hit fairway wood, or even iron, off the tee, depending on what you feel you could do. Now you're hitting driver where usually we're hitting 3-woods or 2-irons. It's playing totally different now.
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I felt if I shot 66, that would be a really good number to post early because I'm two hours ahead of the leaders. I wish I could have shot a couple shots lower and posted that, but you never know.
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I thought at the beginning of the day, there might be two scores in the 60s today. The golf course is playing really difficult. It's fast now. As always, if there's no rain here, the golf course is completely different from Wednesday to Thursday. It somehow just dries out miraculously overnight.
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Time drops in decay, Like a candle burnt out, And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day....
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The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,...
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The place is all awave with trees, Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded, Acacias having drunk the lees Of the night-dew, fain headed, And wan, grey olive-woods, which seem The fittest foliage for a dream.
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Use the talents you posses, for the woods would be a very silent place if no birds sang except the best."
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(I) just stayed patient. I missed a couple of putts early in the round, but finally got it going on the back nine. I made some nice putts on the back nine for birdies as well as par. It turned out to be a really nice day.
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