As long as I live, I’ll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing.
Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.
No right way is easy in this rough world. We must risk our lives to save them.
Trees go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the sun two million miles a day, and through space heaven knows how fast and far!
The battle for conservation will go on endlessly. It is part of the universal battle between right and wrong.
I might have become a millionaire, but I chose to become a tramp.
A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease.
There is that in the glance of a flower which may at times control the greatest of creation’s braggart lords.
How many hearts with warm, red blood in them are beating under cover of the woods, and how many teeth and eyes are shining? A multitude of animal people, intimately related to us, but of whose lives we know almost nothing, are as busy about their own affairs as we are about ours.
So extraordinary is Nature with her choicest treasures, spending plant beauty as she spends sunshine, pouring it forth into land and sea, garden and desert. And so the beauty of lilies falls on angels and men, bears and squirrels, wolves and sheep, birds and bees...
None of Nature’s landscapes are ugly so long as they are wild.
Another glorious day, the air as delicious to the lungs as nectar to the tongue.
Any glimpse into the life of an animal quickens our own and makes it so much the larger and better in every way.
Nature is always lovely, invincible, glad, whatever is done and suffered by her creatures. All scars she heals, whether in rocks or water or sky or hearts.
Doubly happy, however, is the man to whom lofty mountain tops are within reach.
How lavish is Nature building, pulling down, creating, destroying, chasing every material particle from form to form, ever changing, ever beautiful.
One can make a day of any size.
One can make a day of any size and regulate the rising and setting of his own sun and the brightness of its shining.
In drying plants, botanists often dry themselves. Dry words and dry facts will not fire hearts.
Galen Clark was the best mountaineer I ever met, and one of the kindest and most amiable of all my mountain friends.