Emerson called them the Police of the
Universe. His works are a treasury of such things. They sparkle in the
mine, or you may carry them off in your pocket. They get driven into
your mind like nails, and on them catch and hang your own experiences,
till what was once his thought has become your character.
"God offers to every mind its choice between truth and repose. Take
which you please; you can never have both." "Discontent is want of
self-reliance; it is infirmity of will." "It is impossible for a man
to be cheated by any one but himself."
The orchestration with which Emerson introduces and sustains these
notes from the spheres is as remarkable as the winged things themselves.
Open his works at a hazard. You hear a man talking.
"A garden is like those pernicious machineries we read of every
month in the newspapers, which catch a man's coat-skirt or his hand,
and draw in his arm, his leg, and his whole body to irresistible
destruction. In an evil hour he pulled down his wall and added a
field to his homestead.
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