We were glad, however, to get within reach of information.
JOHN MUIRMountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.
More John Muir Quotes
-
-
The wrongs done to trees, wrongs of every sort, are done in the darkness of ignorance and unbelief, for when the light comes, the heart of the people is always right.
JOHN MUIR -
Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world.
JOHN MUIR -
Walk away quietly in any direction and taste the freedom of the mountaineer.
JOHN MUIR -
If people in general could be got into the woods, even for once, to hear the trees speak for themselves, all difficulties in the way of forest preservation would vanish.
JOHN MUIR -
Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity
JOHN MUIR -
As if nothing that does not obviously make for the benefit of man had any right to exist; as if our ways were God’s ways.
JOHN MUIR -
But we are governed more than we know, and most when we are wildest.
JOHN MUIR -
In God’s wildness lies the hope of the world.
JOHN MUIR -
It was the afternoon of the day and the afternoon of his life, and his course was now westward down all the mountains into the sunset.
JOHN MUIR -
How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!
JOHN MUIR -
Yet how hard most people work for mere dust and ashes and care, taking no thought of growing in knowledge and grace, never having time to get in sight of their own ignorance.
JOHN MUIR -
Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.
JOHN MUIR -
But it is in the darkest nights, when storms are blowing and the agitated waves are phosphorescent, that the most impressive displays are made.
JOHN MUIR -
Raindrops blossom brilliantly in the rainbow, and change to flowers in the sod, but snow comes in full flower direct from the dark, frozen sky.
JOHN MUIR -
What a psalm the storm was singing, and how fresh the smell of the washed earth and leaves, and how sweet the still small voices of the storm!
JOHN MUIR