But to gain a perfect view, one must go yet further, over a curving brow to a slight shelf on the extreme brink.

The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.

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

How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!

…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.

What is worthwhile in life? I think it is worth living and dreaming. If you don't you may be dead anyhow - inside.

Most people are on the world, not in it-- having no conscious sympathy or relationship to anything about them-- undiffused seporate, and rigidly alone like marbles of polished stone, touching but seporate.