Any fool can destroy trees. They cannot run away; and if they could, they would still be destroyed-chased and hunted down as long as fun or a dollar could be got of their bark hides.
While cares will drop off like autumn leaves.
To ask me whether I could endure to live without friends is absurd. It is easy enough to live out of material sight of friends, but to live without human love is impossible.
It is a fine thing to see people in hot earnest about anything.
Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.
I wish I knew where I was going. Doomed to be carried of the spirit into the wilderness, I suppose. I wish I could be more moderate in my desires, but I cannot, and so there is no rest.
Divine love is the sublime boss of the universe.
I don’t agree with you in saying that in all human minds there is poetry. Man as he came from the hand of his Maker was poetic in both mind and body, but the gross heathenism of civilization has generally destroyed nature, and poetry, and all that is spiritual.
Nature in her green, tranquil woods heals and soothes all afflictions.
No synonym for God is so perfect as Beauty.
I wonder if leaves feel lonely when they see their neighbors falling?
God cannot save them from fools.
A lifetime is so little a time that we die before we get ready to live. I should like to study at a college, but then I have to say to myself: “You will die before you can do anything else”.
The last days of this glacial winter are not yet past; we live in ‘creation’s dawn.’ The morning stars still sing together, and the world, though made, is still being made and becoming more beautiful every day.
Some people miss flesh as a drunkard misses his dram...
It is a vast wilderness of rocks in a sea of light, colored and glowing like oak and maple in autumn, when the sun gold is richest.
Books are but stepping stones to show you where other minds have been.
The most distinctive, and perhaps the most impressive, characteristic of American scenery is its wilderness.
In this silent, serene wilderness the weary can gain a heart-bath in perfect peace.
A little pure wildness is the one great present want, both of men and sheep.