"I respect not his labors, his farm where every thing has its price; who carry the landscape, who would carry his God, to market, if he could get any thing for him; who goes to market for his god as it is; on whose farm nothing grows free, whose fields bear no crops, whose meadows no flowers, whose trees no fruits, but dollars; who loves not the beauty of his fruits, whose fruits are not ripe for him till they are turned to dollar. Give me the poverty that enjoys true wealth."
Henry David Thoreau - Walden
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peace-love-birds reblogged this from george-barter