sometimes i wish to be like him, to not even notice the haters, to go up to them like lovers, and not even mind so much their rebuff. harry said what if i went up and hugged that vile soul who hates me and i said no it wouldn't be possible, but she might be so disarmed she would just melt. no, i said harry, no. but it bears thinking about.
 

to affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of the arts. everyone is tasked to make life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of one's most elevated and critical hour.

-henry david thoreau