Henry David Thoreau's The Journal of Henry David Thoreau, 1837-1861 (New York PDF


By Henry David Thoreau

Henry David Thoreau’s Journal was once his life’s paintings: the day-by-day perform of writing that observed his day-by-day walks, the workshop the place he built his books and essays, and a undertaking in its personal right—one of the main in depth explorations ever made from the typical surroundings, the revolving seasons, and the altering self. it's a treasure trove of a few of the best prose in English and, for these accustomed to it, its prismatic pages workout a hypnotic fascination. but at approximately seven thousand pages, or million phrases, it continues to be Thoreau’s least-known paintings.

This reader’s version, the most important one-volume version of Thoreau’s Journal ever released, is the 1st to trap the scope, rhythms, and diversity of the paintings as an entire. Ranging freely over the realm at huge, the magazine is not any much less dedicated to the lifestyles inside of. As Thoreau says, “It is in useless to put in writing at the seasons until you have got the seasons in you.”

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His fingers surround them, harder and harder, as if he wanted to tear them off. The band starts up again and we dance among the oleander once more. A distant street lamp illumi­ nates my naked breasts. The taste of his skin in my mouth is so bitter that I have to drink two glasses of water to rinse it out. When they came back to the table. I wanted to tell him something: that I had touched him, that I had tasted him. I did nothing but we shook hands and I held on to his longer than necessary. 35 MARBLE SKIN I thought I could still feel the imprint of her nipple on his palm.

Her words hung in the air, defining that specific space, 43 MA R B L E SKI N under the bath, damp, shadow, blindness, silence. Silence. Things you don’t talk about but which enchain you all the same. Carefully, with her fingertips, she stripped off my organdie dress - I would never again wear it as the stain never came out, even after she boiled it. She grabbed my arm, frightened I would dart away, that I would escape. ’ Even though for years I had been washing myself, I offered no resistance. I crouched in the bath.

I stand in the dark as the trickle runs down my thighs. I go to the bathroom. The water is so cold my teeth chatter. I am afraid that she will hear this unwel­ come noise and come and find me crouching in the bath, naked, transfixed . . I do not dry myself on a towel for fear of dirtying it. I take off my nightdress, 40 SLAVENKA DRAKULld) roll it into a ball and wedge it between my legs. I go back to bed taking care to avoid the wet patch. She wakes me at dawn. ‘You have sullied everything,’ she says.

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The Journal of Henry David Thoreau, 1837-1861 (New York Review Books Classics) by Henry David Thoreau

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