When I wrote the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived alone, inthe woods, a mile from any neighbor, in a house which I had built myself, onthe shore of Walden Pond, in Concord, Massachusetts, and earned my living bythe labor of my hands only. I lived there two years and two months. At presentI am a sojourner in civilized life again.
I should not obtrude my affairs so much on the notice of my readers if veryparticular inquiries had not been made by my townsmen concerning my mode oflife, which some would call impertinent, though they do not appear to me at allimpertinent, but, considering the circumstances, very natural and pertinent.Some have asked what I got to eat; if I did not feel lonesome; if I was notafraid; and the like. Others have been curious to learn what portion of myincome I devoted to charitable purposes; and some, who have large families, howmany poor children I maintained. I will therefore ask those of my readers whofeel no particular interest in me to pardon me if I undertake to answer some ofthese questions in this book. In most books, the I, or first person, isomitted; in this it will be retained; that, in respect to egotism, is the maindifference. We commonly do not remember that it is, after all, always the firstperson that is speaking. I should not talk so much about myself if there wereanybody else whom I knew as well. Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme bythe narrowness of my experience. Moreover, I, on my side, require of everywriter, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and notmerely what he has heard of other men’s lives; some such account as hewould send to his kin