The Snow Storm

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow, and driving o’er the fields, 
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air 
Hides hill and wood, the river and the heaven 
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end, 
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier’s feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of Storm. 
- Emerson

Winter

No Winter shall ever chill the flowers in the garden which is ours and ours only -

eludes

That which has eluded us, we bring with us; but that which we have found, we leave behind -

T W E E T S

No thing

Even a good thing is not as good as no thing -

Seize from every moment its unique novelty and do not prepare your joys -

Intelligence

Intelligence is not what you know, but what you do when you don’t know -