Finally from the crease of the ravine I am following, there begins to come the trickling and splashing of water. There is a great restfulness in the sounds these small streams make; they are going down as fast as they can, but their sound seem leisurely and idle, as if produced like gemstones with the greatest patience and care.

The world, which God looked at and found entirely good, we find none too good to pollute entirely and destroy piecemeal.

Some nights in the midst of this loneliness I swung among the scattered stars at the end of the thin thread of faith alone.

It's impossible to contemplate the life of soil very long without seeing its analogy to the life of the spirit.

The assumption is that people so ignorant and thoughtless and silly and greedy may simply call upon the Army Corps of Engineers in order to receive a clean and abundant supply of water from reservoirs in the mountains. A much likelier outcome is that they will be drinking an ever stronger mixture of sewage and mine acid and mud and cropspray and various other defecations of the industrial paradise.

If conservationists will attempt to resume responsibility for their need to eat, they will be led back fairly directly to all their previous concerns for the welfare of nature.

Only by restoring the broken connections can we be healed. Connection is health.