“I am sometimes made aware of a kindness which may
have long since been shown, which surely memory cannot retain, which reflects
its light long after its heat. I realize,
my friend, that there have been times when thy thoughts of me have been of such
lofty kindness that they passed over me like the winds of heaven unnoticed, so
pure that they presented no object to my eyes, so generous and universal that I
did not detect them. Thou hast loved me for what I was not, but for what I
aspired to be. We shudder to think of the kindness of our friend which has
fallen on us cold, though in some true but tardy hour we have awakened. There
has just reached me the kindness of some acts, not to be forgotten, not to be
remembered. I wipe off these scores at midnight, at rare intervals, in moments
of insight and gratitude.”—Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), The Heart of Thoreau’s Journals, edited
by Odell Shepard (1927)
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