“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.”

Everybody needs beauty, places to play in and pray in where nature may heal and cheer and give strength to the body and soul alike.

Writing is like the life of a glacier; one eternal grind.

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.

Everything in Nature called destruction must be creation-a change from beauty to beauty.

In our best times everything turns into religion, all the world seems a church and the mountains altars.

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

I am learning to live close to the lives of my friends without ever seeing them. No miles of any measurement can separate your soul from mine.

Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.

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.

Going to the woods is going home.

Earth has no sorrow that earth can not heal.

Most people who travel look only at what they are directed to look at. Great is the power of the guidebook maker, however ignorant.

There is a love of wild nature in everybody, an ancient mother-love showing itself whether recognized or no, and however covered by cares and duties.

Mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.

Wildness is a necessity.

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!

I still secretly believe that afternoons are the time for the test card and you shouldn’t watch television when the sun is out.

And while the ice was melting to form a flood in which I threatened to drown I awoke one afternoon to find that my first northern winter had set.

I want to be with someone who dreams of doing everything in life and nothing on rainy Sunday afternoons.

Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.

From the age of three, I played every day-morning, afternoon and night.

The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.