thoreau: how many a poor immortal soul have i met, well-nigh crushed and smothered under its load

divine postman: creeping down the road of life, pushing before it a job seventy five feet by forty

mbuso: never pursuing knowledge.

athi: its divine stables never cleansed,

samantha: and one hundred acres of land, tillage, mowing, pasture and woodlot lying unattended;

thoreau: neglecting these divine repositories will lead to weeds growing, and thus reducing its fertility which is one’s potential

mbuso: as we neglect our bodies we neglect our minds

athi: we should abandon the status quo and discover ourselves

okuhle: greater lands, loftier mountains

samantha: abounding seas are to be found within, no man can ever know what depths the sea holds until he has searched

thoreau: the portionless, who struggle with no such unnecessary inherited encumbrances, find it labor enough to subdue and cultivate a few cubic feet of flesh

divine postman: it is labor enough to maintain one’s soul