The mountains are fountains not only of rivers and fertile soil, but of men.
One learns that the world, though made, is yet being made; that this is still the morning of creation; that mountains long conceived are now being born, channels traced for coming rivers, basins hollowed for lakes...
Nature as a poet, an enthusiastic workingman, becomes more and more visible the farther and higher we go; for the mountains are fountains – beginning places, however related to sources beyond mortal ken.
Only by going alone in silence, without baggage, can one truly get into the heart of the wilderness. All other travel is mere dust and hotels and baggage and chatter.
I am learning to live close to the lives of my friends without ever seeing them. No miles of any measurement can separate your soul from mine.
I will follow my instincts, and be myself for good or ill.
Writing is like the life of a glacier; one eternal grind.
In the eternal youth of Nature, you may renew your own.
Go quietly alone, no harm will befall you.
No words will ever describe the exquisite beauty and charm of this mountain park – Nature’s landscape garden at once tenderly beautiful and sublime. No wonder it draws nature-lovers from all over the world.
Everybody needs beauty as well as bread.
How infinitely superior to our physical senses are those of the mind!
See how God writes history. No technical knowledge is required; only a calm day and a calm mind.
Who publishes the sheet-music of the winds or the music of water written in river-lines?
Surely all God’s people, however serious or savage, great or small, like to play.
Nothing can be done well at a speed of forty miles a day. The multitude of mixed, novel impressions rapidly piled on one another make only a dreamy, bewildering, swirling blur, most of which is unrememberable.
Quench love, and what is left of a man’s life but the folding of a few jointed bones and square inches of flesh? Who would call that life?
Listen to them! How wholly infused with God is this one big word of love that we call the world!
Few in these hot, dim, strenuous times are quite sane or free; choked with care like clocks full of dust, laboriously doing so much good and making so much money – or so little, they are no longer good for themselves.
What wonders lie in every mountain day!