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Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Work

Journals of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1820-1872 [1876] Ed

This volume compiles the private journals of Ralph Waldo Emerson, spanning the years 1820 through 1872, as edited and released in 1876. The entries document Emerson's intellectual development, philosophical reflections, and daily experiences during a formative period in American transcendentalism. The journals serve as a primary source for understanding his ideas on nature, self-reliance, and spirituality, as well as his responses to contemporary social and political events. The 1876 edition organizes these writings to provide a chronological view of Emerson's evolving worldview, making it a valuable resource for scholars and readers interested in 19th-century American thought and literature. more

Author

Ralph Waldo Emerson
Ralph Waldo Emerson

American essayist, poet, and philosopher. Born on May 25, 1803, and died on April 27, 1882. Known for his transcendentalist philosophy, his works have had a profound impact on literature and the intellectual world. more

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“By his machines man can dive and remain under water like a shark; can fly like a hawk in the air; can see atoms like a gnat; can see the system of the universe of Uriel, the angel of the sun; can carry whatever loads a ton of coal can lift; can knock down cities with his fist of gunpowder; can recover the history of his race by the medals which the deluge, and every creature, civil or savage or brute, has involuntarily dropped of its existence; and divine the future possibility of the planet and its inhabitants by his perception of laws of nature.”

“How many attractions for us have our passing fellows in the streets, both male and female, which our ethics forbid us to express, which yet infuse so much pleasure into life. A lovely child, a handsome youth, a beautiful girl, a heroic man, a maternal woman, a venerable old man, charm us, though strangers, and we cannot say so, or look at them but for a moment.”

“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.”