And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in

William Shakespeare, the bard whose pen unveiled the very soul of humanity, once wrote in As You Like It: “And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.” These words, spoken by the exiled Duke Senior, rise like a hymn of solace, a declaration that even in banishment, life is full of wisdom, beauty, and grace. For when stripped of courts and cities, of politics and pomp, one can hear the voice of creation itself — speaking not in human words, but in the language of the natural world.

The origin of this line comes from Shakespeare’s vision of the Forest of Arden, a place of exile that becomes, paradoxically, a sanctuary. Duke Senior, cast out from his throne, does not drown in bitterness but instead finds new teachers: the trees that speak without sound, the brooks whose flowing waters are pages written by nature, the stones whose silence preaches endurance. In contrast to the corruption of human courts, the wilderness offers him purity and wisdom. Shakespeare reminds us here that the loss of worldly honor can open the soul to a deeper, quieter richness.

This truth has echoed through history. Consider the story of St. Francis of Assisi, who abandoned wealth and status to walk barefoot among the poor and the forests of Italy. To him, the birds were brothers, the sun was a father, the moon a sister. Like Duke Senior, Francis found good in everything, because he had trained his heart to listen. Where others saw exile, he saw home; where others saw loss, he saw freedom. Such souls remind us that wisdom is not confined to lecture halls or temples, but shines forth from the humblest part of creation.

The tongues in trees are the lessons of patience and growth. A tree does not rush, but stretches steadily toward heaven, enduring storms, standing firm. The books in brooks are the lessons of motion and renewal: the water that never ceases to flow teaches us of life’s impermanence and constant change. The sermons in stones are the lessons of endurance and silence, for the rock speaks of stability, strength, and the ages it has witnessed. Together, these natural teachers declare that life is filled with meaning for those who are willing to look and listen.

Yet Shakespeare’s line also carries a heroic defiance. Duke Senior does not bow to despair though cast from his throne. He proclaims instead that exile is not ruin, but revelation. To find good in everything is not naivety; it is the highest form of courage, the refusal to let hardship blind the heart. This is a wisdom that emperors and beggars alike must learn: that joy is not given by circumstance but discovered by perception.

The lesson for us is timeless. When you are stripped of comfort, when you feel cast out from the world’s applause, remember that the forest still speaks. Wisdom flows not only from teachers in schools or sages in books, but from every corner of creation. Learn to hear it. Let the tree teach you endurance, the brook teach you renewal, the stone teach you patience. And most of all, train your soul to find good in everything — for even sorrow can carry hidden gifts, and even loss can shape the heart toward greater depth.

What must you do, then? Seek silence and solitude, not as escape but as a school. Walk among the woods, sit beside rivers, listen to the wind. In these places, the world will whisper truths that no human tongue can fully capture. Practice gratitude, even in hardship, so that you too may echo Shakespeare’s Duke: finding sermons where others see only stone, hearing tongues where others hear only silence, discovering good where others see only misfortune.

Thus, let these words of Shakespeare endure as a guide: “And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.” They remind us that wisdom is everywhere, if we would but look with open eyes and listen with open hearts. And in that seeing, that listening, that gratitude, we discover that even in exile, even in sorrow, life is still a gift overflowing with beauty and truth.