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

Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill.

The world, we are told, was made especially for man – a presumption not supported by all the facts.

Not blind opposition to progress,but opposition to blind progress.

Who wouldn’t be a mountaineer! Up here all the world’s prizes seem nothing.

On no subject are our ideas more warped and pitiable than on death.

The world’s big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark.

I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.

I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.

Walk away quietly in any direction and taste the freedom of the mountaineer.

Hidden in the glorious wildness like unmined gold.

One should go to the woods for safety, if for nothing else.

The mountains are calling and I must go.

I have never yet happened upon a trace of evidence that seemed to show that any one animal was ever made for another as much as it was made for itself.

Anyhow we never know where we must go, nor what guides we are to get – people, storms, guardian angels, or sheep.

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.

And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.