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

Go quietly, alone; no harm will befall you.

Few places in this world are more dangerous than home.

All the world was before me and every day was a holiday, so it did not seem important to which one of the world’s wildernesses I first should wander.

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.

The galling harness of civilization drops off, and wounds heal ere we are aware.

Go where we will, all the world over, we seem to have been there before.

Yet through all this stress the forest is maintained in marvelous beauty.

Night is coming on and I am filled with indescribable loneliness. Felt feverish; bathed in a black, silent stream.

The power of imagination makes us infinite.

Going to the mountains is going home.

The deeper the solitude the less the sense of loneliness, and the nearer our friends.

It is always interesting to see people in dead earnest, from whatever cause, and earthquakes make everybody earnest.

We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us.

I never saw a discontented tree.

One day’s exposure to mountains is better than a cartload of books.

So also there are tides and floods in the affairs of men, which in some are slight and may be kept within bounds, but in others they overmaster everything.

Courage is holding on one minute longer than everyone else. Courage is stepping forward when every fiber of your being says step back.

It must be fundamentally wrong to reduce production of food and fiber while one-third of our population is still ill fed and ill clothed.

You sharpen the human appetite to the point where it can split atoms with its desire; you build egos the size of cathedrals; fiber-optically connect the world to every eager impulse.

I have always been a softie, and I fight it with every fiber of my being. Sadly, my being’s fibers need to hit the gym.

If you are trying to thread a needle, you will not succeed if the thread has even a slight fiber sticking out.

I am an invisible man. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids – and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.

Pictures, propagated by motion along the fibers of the optic nerves in the brain, are the cause of vision.