The mountains dwarf mankind and foreshorten the procession of its long generations.

The sea drowns out humanity and time; it has no sympathy with either; for it belongs to eternity, and of that it sings its monotonous song forever and ever.
Yet I should love to have a little box by the seashore.

I should love to gaze out on the wild feline element from a front window of my own, just as I should love to look on a caged panther, and see it, stretch its shining length, and then curl over and lap its smooth sides, and by-and-by begin to lash itself into rage and show its white teeth and spring at its bars, and howl the cry of its mad, but, to me, harmless fury .-- And then,--to look at it with that inward eye,--who does not love to shuffle off time and its concerns, at intervals,--to forget who is President and who is Governor, what race he belongs to, what language he speaks, which golden-headed nail of the firmament his particular planetary system is hung upon, and listen to the great liquid metronome as it beats its solemn measure, steadily swinging when the solo or duet of human life began, and to swing just as steadily after the human chorus has died out and man is a fossil on its shores?
-- What should decide one, in choosing a summer residence?
-- Constitution, first of all.

How much snow could you melt in an hour, if you were planted in a hogshead of it?
Comfort is essential to enjoyment.

All sensitive people should remember that persons in easy circumstances suffer much more cold in summer--that is, the warm half of the year--than in winter, or the other half.
You must cut your climate to your constitution, as much as your clothing to your shape.