“There is scarcely a square rod of sand exposed, in this neighborhood, but you may find on it the stone arrowheads of an extinct race that has preceded us….Time will soon destroy the works of famous painters and sculptors but not the Indian arrowhead….They are not fossil bones but fossil thoughts, forever reminding me of the mind that shaped them….I know the subtle spirits that made them are not far off, into whatever form transmuted….Originally winged for but a short flight,….it still wings its way through the ages….bearing a message from the hand that shot it. Myriads of arrow-points lie sleeping in the skin of the revolving earth, while meteors revolve in space….The footprint, the mind-prints of the oldest men.”
Henry David Thoreau, Journals, 1859
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