I'll never stop wandering. And when the time comes to die, I'll find the wildest, loneliest, most desolate spot there is.

I have been thinking more and more that I shall always be a lone wanderer of the wilderness. God, how the trail lures me. You cannot comprehend its resistless fascination for me. After all, the lone trail is bestI'll never stop wandering. And when the time comes to die, I'll find the wildest, loneliest, most desolate spot there is.

Happiness lies in a large measure of self-forgetfulness, either in work . . . or in the love of others. ♥

But then, I am always being overwhelmed. I require it to sustain life.

I prefer the saddle to the streetcar and star-sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown, to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities. Do you blame me then for staying here, where I feel that I belong and am one with the world around me? It is true that I miss intelligent companionship, but there are so few with whom I can share the things that mean so much to me that I have learned to contain myself. It is enough that I am surrounded with beauty

I shall go on some last wilderness trip, to a place I have known and loved. I shall not return.

I don't think I could ever settle down. I have known too much of the depths of life already, and I would prefer anything to an anticlimax.