In my state of spiritual abstraction, I no longer belong to myself and to my eyesight. I am nothing more than a single narrow gasping lung, floating over the mists and summits.
I didn’t go up there to die. I went up there to live.
Bolts are the murder of the impossible.
The wonderful things in life are the things you do, not the things you have.
Mountains are not fair or unfair, they are just dangerous.
My market value increases with every outside critisism. Therefore, the frequently raised contention that I am the most highly critisized mountaineer does not disturb me in the slightest.