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I am not yet of Percy’s mind, the Hotspur of the north, he
that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast,
washes his hands, and says to his wife, “Fie upon this quiet
life! I want work.”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
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You commonly make your camp just at sundown.... You have no time to explore or look around you before it is dark. You may penetrate half a dozen rods farther into that twilight wilderness, after some dry bark to kindle your fire with, and wonder what mysteries lie hidden still deeper in it, say at the end of a long day’s walk.... That is as if you had been to town or civilized parts. But there is no sauntering off to see the country, and ten or fifteen rods seems a great way from your companions, and you come back with the air of a much-traveled man, as from a long journey, with adventures to relate, though you may have heard the crackling of the fire all the while,—and at a hundred rods you might be lost past recovery, and have to camp out.
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)