The life of a tree is a hundred and a thousand years; its decays ornamental;
its repairs self-made: they grow when we sleep, they grew when we were unborn.
But we must look forward also, and make our-selves a thousand years old; and
when these acorns, that are falling at our feet, are oaks over-shadowing our children in a remote
century, this mute green bank will be full of history: the good, the wise and great will have left
their names and virtues on the trees; heroes, poets, beauties, sanctities, benefactors, will have
made the air timeable and articulate.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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