You must everywhere build on piles of your own driving.
Henry David Thoreau
Some suggestions for you :
Every path but your own is the path of fate. Keep on your own track, then.
Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me.
So thoroughly and sincerely are we compelled to live, reverencing our life, and denying the possibility of change. This is the only way, we say; but there are as many ways as there can be drawn radii from one centre. All change is a miracle to contemplate; but it is a miracle which is taking place every instant.
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.
Others, craven-hearted, said disparagingly, that "he threw his life away," because he resisted the government. Which way have they thrown their lives, pray?—Such.
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
The boy gathers materials for a temple, and then when he is thirty, concludes to build a woodshed.
Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side, Withstand the winter's storm, And spite of wind and tide, Grow up the meadow's pride, For both are strong Above they barely touch, but undermined Down to their deepest source, Admiring you shall find Their roots are intertwined Insep'rably.
Let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb-nail.
We are sometimes made aware of a kindness long passed, and realize that there have been times when our friends' thoughts of us were of so pure and lofty a character that they passed over us like the winds of heaven unnoticed; when they treated us not as what we were, but as what we aspired to be.
It is only when we forget all our learning that we begin to know. You must be aware that no thing is what you have taken it to be. You have got to be in a different state from the common.
In the long run, men hit only what they aim at. Therefore, they had better aim at something high.
The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity!
Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself.