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A little brook meandered by the cottage where I made both that world-forgetting retreat and this book. On its green narrow bank I sat for meditation every day at the sunset hour. Within hearing of its tinkling gurgling progress over rugged stones, I prepared the material that was transferred by pen, pencil, and typewriter to these sheets. The brook's waters gave me a rich sustenance.

-- Notebooks Category 12: Reflections > Chapter 6: The Profane and The Profound > # 198

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