notes on walden
For all the greatness of literature, there is a greater language of life, the language without metaphor. It is the language where things happen: rays of light shine through the window, the bean plants blossom in the garden, the birds flit through the house. "I love a broad margin to my life," Thoreau writes . Attention to the present moment will make life as exciting as a novel because life then becomes the entertainment. Time is no longer divided into units, but flows between past and future, pausing as we experience the present moment. Thoreau's house was on the side of a hill, surrounded by fruit, trees pushing leaves on tender boughs, and limbs breaking from the lush weight of berries. He heard the sound of birds interrupted only by the whistle of the locomotive whirring as it made its way along the tracks. The locomotive! Shining and snorting like some new being, it made its regular appearance just like the sun. This silver machine caused people to be regular, punctual with hours and moments. Men shoveled the snow with courage so that the locomotive could rumble though, filled with commerce, bringing cloth and wood, hemp and fish. Cattle trains! Pastoral life whirled away. But he crossed the track
Walden - Spring & Conclusion Summary When the ice-cutters open the lake, they cause the ice to break up earlier than it would otherwise. He writes of the fox, the loon, and the ducks, all loving the pond as he does. Speaking of birds, Thoreau loves onomatopoeia. The birds come out chirping, the squirrel chatters, and the geese honk overhead. Commentary The image of the train is fascinating in the world of Thoreau. Truth means more than love, than money, than fame. The most relevant part of this final chapter is the section that tells us to search inside ourselves. He examines how words are composed, reflecting their meaning. Brute Neighbors Sometimes another man fished with Thoreau in the mornings. He examines how words are composed, reflecting their meaning. Creeping, no yard, no gate, the world. On Sundays he hears bells, the wood-nymph echo of bells from the forest.
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