Touch seems to be as essential as sunlight.

I swear I will not dishonor my soul with hatred, but offer myself humbly as a guardian of nature, as a healer of misery, as a messenger of wonder, as an architect of peace.

Smell is the mute sense, the one without words.

Habitats keep evolving new pageants of species, and we shouldn't interfere.

Words are small shapes in the gorgeous chaos of the world. ... they bring the world into focus, they corral ideas, they hone thoughts, they paint watercolors of perception.

There was nothing to do but wait. It is always like this for naturalists, and for poets--the long hours of travel and preparation, and then the longer hours of waiting. All for that one electric, pulse-revving vision when the universe suddenly declares itself.

Adventure is not something you travel to find. It's something you take with you, or you're not going to find it when you arrive.