I would fain keep a journal of those thoughts and impressions i am most liable to forget; that have in one sense the greatest remoteness, in another, the greatest nearness to me. Journal, January, 1851
Do not tread on the heels of your experience. Be impressed without making a minute of it. Put an interval between the impression and the expression, - wait till the seed germinates naturally. Journal, July 23, 1851
How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live. August 19, 1851
Things must lie a little remote to be described. November 11, 1851
Hard and steady and engrossing labor with the hands, especially out of doors, is invaluable to the literary man and serves him directly. Here I have been for six days surveying in the woods, and yet when I get home at evening, somewhat weary at last, and beginning to feel that I have nerves, I find myself more susceptible than usual to the finest influences, as music and poetry. The very air can intoxicate me, or the least sight or sound, as if my finer senses had acquired an appetite by their fast. November 20, 1851
I wish to be translated to the future to observe what portions of my work have crumbled. January 1, 1852
Perhaps this is the main value of a habit of writing, of keeping a journal, - that so we remember our best hours and stimulate ourselves. To set down such choice experiences that my own writings inspire me and at last may make wholes of parts. Journal, January 22, 1852
I do not know but thoughts written down in a journal might be printed in the same form with greater advantage than if the related ones were brought together into separate essays. Journal, January 27, 1852
Perhaps this is the main value of a habit of writing, of keeping a journal, - that so we remember our best hours and stimulate ourselves. To set down such choice experiences that my own writings inspire me and at last may make wholes of parts. Journal, January 22, 1852
I do not know but thoughts written down in a journal might be printed in the same form with greater advantage than if the related ones were brought together into separate essays. Journal, January 27, 1852
The forcible writer does not go far for his themes. His ideas are not far-fetched. January 29, 1852
The forcible writer stands bodily behind his words
with his experience. He does not make books out of
books, but he has been there in person. February 3, 1852
Time never passes so rapidly and unaccountably as when I am engaged in recording my thoughts. Journal, February, 5, 1852
Write while the heat is in you. . . . The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts . . .cannot inflame the minds of his audience. Journal, February 10, 1852
I succeed best when I recur to my experience not too late, but within a day or two; when there is some distance, but enough of freshness. Journal, May 5, 1852
You only need to make a faithful record of an average summer day's experience and summer mood, and read it in the winter, and it will carry you back to more than that summer day alone could show. Journal, October 26, 1853
What you can recall of a walk on the second day will differ from what you remember on the first day, ... as any view changes to one who is journeying amid mountains when he has increased the distance. January 10, 1854
I find some advantage in describing the experience of a day on the day following. At this distance it is more ideal, like the landscape seen with the head inverted, or reflections in water. Journal April 20, 1854
In a journal it is important in a few words to describe the weather, or character of the day, as it affects our feelings. That which was so important at the time cannot be unimportant to remember. Journal, February 5, 1855
I find in my Journal that the most important events in my life, if recorded at all, are not dated. Journal, December 26, 1855
A journal is a record of experiences and growth, not a preserve of things well done or said. The charm of the journal must consist in a certain greenness, though freshness, and not in maturity. Here I cannot afford to be remembering what I said or did, but what I am and aspire to become. Journal, January 24, 1856
I do not perceive the poetic and dramatic capabilities of an anecdote or story which is told me, its significance, till some time afterwards. One of the qualities of a pregnant fact is that it does not surprise us, and we only perceive afterward how interesting it is, and then must know all the particulars. We do not enjoy poetry fully unless we know it to be poetry. Journal, October 1, 1856
If you are describing any occurrence, or a man, make two or more distinct reports at different times. Though you may think you have said all, you will to-morrow remember a whole new class of facts which perhaps interested most of all at the time, but did not present themselves to be reported. If we have recently met and talked with a man, and would report our experience, we commonly make a very partial report at first, failing to seize the most significant, picturesque, and dramatic points; we describe only what we have had time to digest and dispose of in our minds, without being conscious that there were other things really more novel and interesting to us, which will not fail to recur to us and impress us suitably at last. How little that occurs to us in any way are we prepared at once to appreciate! We discriminate at first only a few features, and we need to reconsider our experience from many points of view and in various moods, to preserve the whole fruit of it. Journal, March 24, 1857
Often I can give the truest and most interesting account of any adventure I have had after years have elapsed, for then I am not confused, only the most significant facts surviving in my memory. Indeed, all that continues to interest me after such a lapse of time is sure to be pertinent, and I may safely record all that I remember. March 28, 1857
I would fain make two reports in my Journal, first the incidents and observations of to-day; and by tomorrow I review the same and record what was omitted before, which will often be the most significant and poetic part. I do not know at first what it is that charms me. The men and things of to-day are wont to lie fairer and truer in to-morrow’s memory. March 27, 1857
Is not the poet bound to write his own biography? Is there any other work for him but a good journal? We do not wish to know how his imaginary hero, but how he, the actual hero, lived from day to day. October 21, 1857
It is in vain to write on the seasons unless you have the seasons in you. January 23, 1858
Time never passes so rapidly and unaccountably as when I am engaged in recording my thoughts. Journal, February, 5, 1852
Write while the heat is in you. . . . The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts . . .cannot inflame the minds of his audience. Journal, February 10, 1852
I succeed best when I recur to my experience not too late, but within a day or two; when there is some distance, but enough of freshness. Journal, May 5, 1852
You only need to make a faithful record of an average summer day's experience and summer mood, and read it in the winter, and it will carry you back to more than that summer day alone could show. Journal, October 26, 1853
What you can recall of a walk on the second day will differ from what you remember on the first day, ... as any view changes to one who is journeying amid mountains when he has increased the distance. January 10, 1854
I find some advantage in describing the experience of a day on the day following. At this distance it is more ideal, like the landscape seen with the head inverted, or reflections in water. Journal April 20, 1854
In a journal it is important in a few words to describe the weather, or character of the day, as it affects our feelings. That which was so important at the time cannot be unimportant to remember. Journal, February 5, 1855
I find in my Journal that the most important events in my life, if recorded at all, are not dated. Journal, December 26, 1855
A journal is a record of experiences and growth, not a preserve of things well done or said. The charm of the journal must consist in a certain greenness, though freshness, and not in maturity. Here I cannot afford to be remembering what I said or did, but what I am and aspire to become. Journal, January 24, 1856
I do not perceive the poetic and dramatic capabilities of an anecdote or story which is told me, its significance, till some time afterwards. One of the qualities of a pregnant fact is that it does not surprise us, and we only perceive afterward how interesting it is, and then must know all the particulars. We do not enjoy poetry fully unless we know it to be poetry. Journal, October 1, 1856
If you are describing any occurrence, or a man, make two or more distinct reports at different times. Though you may think you have said all, you will to-morrow remember a whole new class of facts which perhaps interested most of all at the time, but did not present themselves to be reported. If we have recently met and talked with a man, and would report our experience, we commonly make a very partial report at first, failing to seize the most significant, picturesque, and dramatic points; we describe only what we have had time to digest and dispose of in our minds, without being conscious that there were other things really more novel and interesting to us, which will not fail to recur to us and impress us suitably at last. How little that occurs to us in any way are we prepared at once to appreciate! We discriminate at first only a few features, and we need to reconsider our experience from many points of view and in various moods, to preserve the whole fruit of it. Journal, March 24, 1857
Often I can give the truest and most interesting account of any adventure I have had after years have elapsed, for then I am not confused, only the most significant facts surviving in my memory. Indeed, all that continues to interest me after such a lapse of time is sure to be pertinent, and I may safely record all that I remember. March 28, 1857
I would fain make two reports in my Journal, first the incidents and observations of to-day; and by tomorrow I review the same and record what was omitted before, which will often be the most significant and poetic part. I do not know at first what it is that charms me. The men and things of to-day are wont to lie fairer and truer in to-morrow’s memory. March 27, 1857
Is not the poet bound to write his own biography? Is there any other work for him but a good journal? We do not wish to know how his imaginary hero, but how he, the actual hero, lived from day to day. October 21, 1857
It is in vain to write on the seasons unless you have the seasons in you. January 23, 1858
A transient acquaintance with any phenomenon is not sufficient to make it completely the subject of your muse. You must be so conversant with it as to remember it and be reminded of it long afterward, while it lies remotely fair and elysian in the horizon, approachable only by the imagination. , February 13, 1859
Find out as soon as possible what are the best things in your composition, and then shape the rest to fit them. The former will be the midrib and veins of the leaf. March 11, 1859
The more you have thought and written on a given theme, the more you can still write. Thought breeds thought. It grows under your hands. February 13, 1860
In keeping a journal of one's walks and thoughts it seems to be worth the while to record those phenomena which are most interesting to us at the time. Such is the weather. Journal, January 25, 1860
In keeping a journal of one's walks and thoughts it seems to be worth the while to record those phenomena which are most interesting to us at the time. Such is the weather. Journal, January 25, 1860
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