“The sun shines not on us but in us.”

Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world.

In God’s wildness lies the hope of the world.

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.