Word: thoreau
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...setting Thoreau might envy, but a setup that would appall him. For Julia Hill, the 24-year-old ecowarrior who goes by the nom de guerre Butterfly and now holds the U.S. record for the longest, highest tree-sit, life is anything but mellow. From the 180-ft.-high plywood platform where she has camped out since Dec. 10, she fields calls from a New York City radio station, a Little Rock newspaper and German television, which is sending a crew up from Los Angeles. "I have become one with this tree and with nature in a way I would...
...Venus. The early hours spent with radio, TV and films are the foundation of adult imagination. Yet when children grow up, they suffer some sad amnesia of taste. How else could former kids provide television programs designed to do nothing with time but kill it--as if, in Thoreau's phrase, it were possible to kill time without injuring eternity? From the moment it was old enough to earn money, U.S. television has been squandering the country's greatest natural resource: the young audience...
...ghostly half-light at the end of the Civil War. Charles Frazier's miraculous (and best-selling) first novel is as spare as timeless myth, one man's yearning homeward. Yet its deeply local details, its twiggy smell of roots and solitary eccentrics, evoke the spirit of Thoreau--and the Taoist hermits who once haunted the Cold Mountains of old China...
...exile, than on Hollywood sets. But his Buddhist fascination, like that of many his age, began during his college years with Zen, as idiosyncratically presented by Beat writers like Jack Kerouac, Gary Snyder and Allen Ginsberg. America had shown some interest in Buddhism before the 1950s: Henry David Thoreau wrote, "some will have bad thoughts of me, when they hear their Christ named beside my Buddha." But the Beats' incorporation of koans into the phenomenon of "hip" made them de facto recruiters for a hardy group of Japanese Zen masters who had begun arriving on both coasts in the 1930s...
...Diego has been my home for all my life. But when I came to Harvard, I didn't think that I would ever return to a home west of the Mississippi. Enchanted by dreams of Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, and the hundreds of other New Englanders whose words fill our literary anthologies, I was convinced I was a transplanted Easterner. I didn't even apply to colleges in California. I thought that coming to Harvard would be a coming home...