Thoreau writes in his journal:
Nothing in nature is sneaking or chapfallen, as somewhat maltreated and slighted, but each is satisfied with its being, and so is as lavender and balm. If skunk-cabbage is offensive to the nostrils of men, still has it not drooped in consequence, but trustfully unfolded its leaf of two hands’ breadth. What was it to Lord Byron whether England owned or disowned him, whether he smelled sour and was slunk-cabbage to the English nostril or violet.—like, the pride of the land and ornament of every lady’s boudoir? Let not the oyster grieve that he has lost the race; he has gained as an oyster.
