I can show you wonders past belief in your own soul.

I can easily convince you that you are in reality a poet, a hero, a true lover, a saint.
It is because we are not humble enough in the presence of the divine daily fact that adventure knocks so rarely at our door.

A thousand times I have had to learn this truth (what lesson so hard to learn as the lesson of humility!) and I suppose I shall have to learn it a thousand times more.

This very day, straining my eyes to see the distant wonders of the mountains, I nearly missed a miracle by the roadside.
Soon after leaving the minister and his family--I worked with them in their garden with great delight most of the forenoon--I came, within a mile--to the wide white turnpike--the Great Road.
Now, I usually prefer the little roads, the little, unexpected, curving, leisurely country roads.

The sharp hills, the pleasant deep valleys, the bridges not too well kept, the verdure deep grown along old fences, the houses opening hospitably at the very roadside, all these things I love.
They come to me with the same sort of charm and flavour, only vastly magnified, which I find often in the essays of the older writers--those leisurely old fellows who took time to write, REALLY write.