God has cared for these trees, saved them from drought, disease, avalanches, and a thousand tempests and floods. But he cannot save them from fools.

How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.

I wonder if leaves feel lonely when they see their neighbors falling?

One learns that the world, though made, is yet being made; that this is still the morning of creation; that mountains long conceived are now being born, channels traced for coming rivers, basins hollowed for lakes.

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

The mountains are calling and I must go.