Excerpt from The Writings of John Burroughs: XV, the Summit of the Years
In publishing another volume of mixed essays, most of them written in the over-time I have made since I passed the Scriptural limit of three-score and ten years, I am cherishing the hope that my reader will not wish I had stopped at the boundary set by the Psalmist.
There is no other joy in life like mental and bodily activity, like keeping up a live interest in the world of thought and things. Old age is practically held at bay so long as one can keep the currents of his life moving. The vital currents, like mountain streams, tend to rejuvenate themselves as they flow.
One reaps his harvest, and it looks as if his acres would never yield another, but lo! as the seasons return, there springs a fresh crop of ideas and observations. It seems as if one never could get to the end of all the delightful things there are to know, and to observe, and to speculate about in the world. Nature is always young, and there is no greater felicity than to share in her youth. I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.
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