None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.
Henry David ThoreauRead
The art of life, of a poet's life, is, not having anything to do, to do something.
Interpretation
Life's true essence involves finding purpose in simple actions rather than being busy with meaningless tasks.
This quote by Henry David Thoreau suggests that the essence of life, especially from a poet's perspective, lies not in constant activity but in the appreciation of the moments that allow for deeper reflection and creativity. It implies that true fulfillment comes from engaging in meaningful pursuits that resonate with one's inner self, rather than merely filling time with trivial actions.
In practice
In a speech about finding meaning in everyday life during a conference.
None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.
Through want of enterprise and faith men are where they are, buying and selling and spending their lives like servants.
An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.
Have no mean hours, but be grateful for every hour, and accept what it brings. The reality will make any sincere record respectable.
As every season seems best to us in its turn, so the coming in of spring is like the creation of Cosmos out of Chaos and the realization of the Golden Age.
That grand old poem called Winter
there was no crime in unconscious plagiarism; that I committed it everyday, that he committed it everyday, that every man alive on earth who writes or speaks commits it every day and not merely once or twice but every time he open his mouth⦠there is nothing of our own in it except some slight change born of our temperament, character, environment, teachings and associations
In Italy, where I live now, I have put some distance between myself and the world that has formed me.
Words can be meaningless. If they are used in such a way that no sharp conclusions can be drawn.
When the Way governs the world, the proud stallions drag dung carriages. When the Way is lost to the world, war horses are bred outside the city.
One cannot long remain so absorbed in contemplation of emptiness without being increasingly attracted to it. In vain one bestows on it the name of infinity; this does not change its nature. When one feels such pleasure in non-existence, one's inclination can be completely satisfied only by completely ceasing to exist.
Blasphemy is an epithet bestowed by superstition upon common sense.
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