One swallow does not make a summer, but one skein of geese, cleaving the murk of March thaw, is the Spring.

An Ecologist lives in a world of wounds.

Harmony with land is like harmony with a friend; you cannot cherish his right hand and chop off his left.

The life of every river sings its own song, but in most the song is long marred by the discords of misuse.

For unnumbered centuries of human history the wilderness has given way. The priority of industry has become dogma. Are we as yet sufficiently enlightened to realize that we must now challenge that dogma, or do without our wilderness? Do we realize that industry, which has been our good servant, might make a poor master?

We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.

Man always kills the thing he loves, and so we the pioneers have killed our wilderness. Some say we had to. Be that as it may, I am glad I shall never be young without wild country to be young in. Of what avail are forty freedoms without a blank spot on the map?