We may seek her far and wide, with minds intent upon other things, and she will forever elude us; but on the morning we open our windows with a free mind, she is there to break for us the seal of her treasures and to pour out the perfume of her flowers.

She is cold, remote, inaccessible only so long as we close the doors of our hearts and minds to her.

With the drudges and slaves of mere getting and saving she has nothing in common; but with those who hold their souls above the price of the world and the bribe of success she loves to share her repose, her strength, and her beauty.
In Arden Rosalind and I cared as little for the world we had left as children intent upon daisies care for the dust of the road out of which they have come into the wide meadows.
VI Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The season's difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
If the ideal conditions of life, of which most of us dream, could be realised, the result would be a padded and luxurious existence, well-housed, well-fed, well-dressed, with all the winds of heaven tempered to indolence and cowardice.

We are saved from absolute shame by the consciousness that if such a life were possible we should speedily revolt against the comforts that flattered the body while they ignored the soul.

In Arden there is no such compromise with our immoral desires to get results without work, to buy without paying for what we receive.