Man takes root at his feet, and at best he is no more than a potted plant in his house or carriage till he has established communication with the soil by the loving and magnetic touch of his soles to it.

The art of nature is all in the direction of concealment.

I came from a race of fishers; trout streams gurgled about the roots of my family tree.

The floating vapour is just as true an illustration of the law of gravity as the falling avalanche.

One resolution I have made, and try always to keep, is this: ‘To rise above little things’.

It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.

When I look up into the starry heavens at night and reflect upon what it is I really see there, I am constrained to say, ´there is no god´.