Snake and Ladder game appears to me, in a sense, an oversimplification of life. Life is much more complex than either climbing heights or being python swallowed. For many, living has been a long summer of grazing in a deficient pasture or a cruel winter of gazing at the stars, without ever a lift or even a slide.
(Prasanna Mishra, born in 1942, lives in Bhubaneswar (India) . A former civil servant, he is a columnist and a social activist. Does not like to call a spade by any other name.)
On a late-winter evening in 1983, while driving through fog along the Maine coast, recollections of old campfires began to drift into the March mist, and I thought of the Abnaki Indians of the Algonquin tribe who dwelt near Bangor a thousand years ago.
(Norman Mailer (b. 1923), U.S. author. Harry Hubbard, in Harlot's Ghost, Omega 1, Random House (1991).
What is a farm but a mute gospel? The chaff and the wheat, weeds and plants, blight, rain, insects, sunit is a sacred emblem from the first furrow of spring to the last stack which the snow of winter overtakes in the fields.
(Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), U.S. essayist, poet, philosopher. Nature, ch. 5 (1836, revised and repr. 1849).)
The poet is he that hath fat enough, like bears and marmots, to suck his claws all winter. He hibernates in this world, and feeds on his own marrow.
(Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. philosopher, author, naturalist. A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers (1849), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 1, p. 101, Houghton Mifflin (1906).)
Nature confounds her summer distinctions at this season. The heavens seem to be nearer the earth. The elements are less reserved and distinct. Water turns to ice, rain to snow. The day is but a Scandinavian night. The winter is an arctic summer.
(Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. philosopher, author, naturalist. "A Winter Walk" (1843), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 5, p. 170, Houghton Mifflin (1906).)
The change from storm and winter to serene and mild weather, from dark and sluggish hours to bright and elastic ones, is a memorable crisis which all things proclaim. It is seemingly instantaneous at last.
(Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. philosopher, author, naturalist. Walden (1854), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 2, p. 344, Houghton Mifflin (1906).)