I care to live only to entice people to look at Nature’s loveliness.

Writing is like the life of a glacier; one eternal grind.

In drying plants, botanists often dry themselves. Dry words and dry facts will not fire hearts.

Going to the woods is going home, for I suppose we came from the woods originally.

…their eager, childlike attention was refreshing to see as compared with the decent, deathlike apathy of weary civilized people, in whom natural curiosity has been quenched in toil and care and poor, shallow comfort.

At the touch of this divine light, the mountains seemed to kindle to a rapt, religious consciousness, and stood hushed like devout worshippers waiting to be blessed.

I am losing precious days. I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news