Authors:
  • I think of no news to tell you. It is a serene summer day here, all above the snow. The hens steal their nests, and I steal theireggs still, as formerly. This is what I do with the hands. Ah, labor,--it is a divine institution, and conversation with many men and hens.

    Henry David Thoreau (2016). “Familiar Letters - The Writings of Henry David Thoreau”, p.44, Read Books Ltd