Moreover, I detest being hurried: it seems to me the most offensive way in which we are reminded of our mortality; there is time enough if we know how to use it.
People who, like Goethe, never rest and never haste, complete their work and escape the friction of it.
One of the most delightful things about life in Arden is the absence of any sense of haste; life is a matter of being rather than of doing, and one shares the tranquillity of the great trees that silently expand year by year.

The fever and restlessness are gone, the long strain of nerve and will relaxed; a delicious feeling of having strength and time enough to live one's life and do one's work fills one with a deep and enduring sense of repose.
Rosalind, who had been busy about so many things that I sometimes almost lost sight of her for days together, found time to take long walks with me, to watch the birds and the clouds, and talk by the hour about all manner of pleasant trifles.

I came to feel after a time that just what I anticipated would happen in Arden had happened.

I was fast becoming acquainted with her.

We spent days together in the most delightful half-vocal and half-silent fellowship; leaving everything to the mood of the hour and the place.