Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.
John MuirWhat a psalm the storm was singing, and how fresh the smell of the washed earth and leaves, and how sweet the still small voices of the storm!
John MuirMost people who travel look only at what they are directed to look at. Great is the power of the guidebook maker, however ignorant.
John MuirIf I should be fated to walk no more with Nature, be compelled to leave all I most devoutly love in the wilderness, return to civilization and be twisted into the characterless cable of society, then these sweet, free, cumberless rovings will be as chinks and slits on life's horizon, through which I may obtain glimpses of the treasures that lie in God's wilds beyond my reach.
John Muir