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“There is nowhere recorded,” he complains, “a simple and irrepressible satisfaction with the gift of life, any memorable praise of God. . . . If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance, like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, -is more elastic, starry, and immortal,--that is your success.”
This was Thoreau, who died unmarried at Concord, Massachusetts, May 6, 1862.
Houghton Mifflin Press. 1909.
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