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86 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1836
هیچ چیز به تنهایی در کمال زیبایی قرار ندارد و هر چیزی در کل به اوج زیبایی میرسد. یک موضوع مفرد تنها به اندازهای زیباست که به افسون جهان هستی اشاره دارد. شاعر، نقاش، پیکرتراش، موسیقیدان معمار، هریک در پی آن هستند که تلألو جهان را در نقطهای بنمایانند و هر یک در کارهای متعدد خود عشق به زیبایی که محرک اصلی ایشان برای خلاقیت بوده را تصدیق و تأیید میکنند. بدین ترتیب هنر طبیعتی است که در تمام سلولهای بشر وجود دارد و اینگونه در هنر، طبیعت حسب ارادۀ انسانی که از زیبایی آثارش سرشار شده، کار میکند. اینگونه جهان برای تصدیق تمایل به زیبایی در روح زیست مینماید. من این عنصر را غایت بی پایان مینامم.
a paper currency is employed, when there is no bullion in the vaults
Every word which is used to express a moral or intellectual fact, if traced to its root, is found to be borrowed from some material appearance. Right means straight; wrong means twisted. Spirit primarily means wind; transgression, the crossing of a line; supercilious, the raising of the eyebrow. We say the heart to express emotion, the head to denote thought; and thought and emotion are words borrowed from sensible things, and now appropriated to spiritual nature. Most of the process by which this transformation is made, is hidden from us in the remote time when language was framed; but the same tendency may be daily observed in children. Children and savages use only nouns or names of things, which they convert into verbs, and apply to analogous mental acts.
The misery of man appears like childish petulance, when we explore the steady and prodigal provision that has been made for his support and delight on this green ball which floats him through the heavens. [...] The field is at once his floor, his work-yard, his play-ground, his garden, and his bed.
[...]
The lover of nature is he whose inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood. His intercourse with heaven and earth, becomes part of his daily food. In the presence of nature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite of real sorrows. Nature says, -- he is my creature, and maugre all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me. Not the sun or the summer alone, but every hour and season yields its tribute of delight; for every hour and change corresponds to and authorizes a different state of the mind, from breathless noon to grimmest midnight. [...] Yet it is certain that the power to produce this delight, does not reside in nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both.