I think part of the appeal of Antarctica is experiencing some sort of power, the forces of the natural world.

Children can be harsh judges when it comes to their parents, disinclined to grant clemency.

And if I remain in the dark about our purpose here, and the meaning of eternity, I have nevertheless arrived at an understanding of a few more modest truths: Most of us fear death. Most of us yearn to comprehend how we got here, and why-- which is to say, most of us ache to know the love of our creator. And we will no doubt feel that ache, most of us, for as long as we happen to be alive.

He needed his solitude at times, but he wasn't a hermit. He did a lot of socializing. Sometimes I think it was like he was storing up company for the times when he knew nobody would be around.

What if I were smiling and running into your arms? Would you see then what I see now?

Getting to the top of any given mountain was considered much less important than how one got there: prestige was earned by tackling the most unforgiving routes with minimal equipment, in the boldest style imaginable.

Sometimes he tried too hard to make sense of the world, to figure out why people were bad to each other so often.