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Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.

John Muir

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John Muir
Age: 76 †
Born: 1838
Born: April 21
Died: 1914
Died: December 24
Author
Autobiographer
Botanist
Conservationist
Ecologist
Engineer
Essayist
Explorer
Geologist
Glaciologist
Inventor
Mountaineer
Naturalist
J. Muir
Wisdom
Hiking
Yosemite
Natural
Climb
Climbers
Nature
Climbs
Tidings
Good
Autumn
Mountaineering
Climbing
Tidy
Mountains
Trekking
Wilderness
Freshness
Mountain
Trails
Yellowstone

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In the eternal youth of Nature, you may renew your own.
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Come to the woods, for here is rest.
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See how God writes history. No technical knowledge is required only a calm day and a calm mind.
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Wander here a whole summer, if you can ... Thousands of wild blessings will search you and soak you as if you were a sponge, and the big days will go by uncounted
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I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.
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Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts . . .
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One learns that the world, though made, is yet being made that this is still the morning of creation that mountains long conceived are now being born, channels traced for coming rivers, basins hollowed for lakes.
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Quench love, and what is left of a man's life but the folding of a few jointed bones and square inches of flesh? Who would call that life?
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...full of God's thoughts, a place of peace and safety amid the most exalted grandeur and enthusiastic action, a new song, a place of beginnings abounding in first lessons of life, mountain building, eternal, invincible, unbreakable order with sermons in stone, storms, trees, flowers, and animals brimful with humanity.
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Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains.
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He had gone to the higher Sierras... [about Ralph Waldo Emerson's death]
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Surely all God's people, however serious or savage, great or small, like to play.
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Any glimpse into the life of an animal quickens our own and makes it so much the larger and better in every way.
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We are in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us....How glorious a conversion, so complete and wholesome it is, scarce memory enough of old bondage days left as a standpoint to view it from! In this newness of life we seem to have been so always
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I am losing precious days. I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news
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Strange the faithless fuss made about taking a walk in the safest and pleasantest of all places, a wilderness.
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How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains! To behold this alone is worth the pains of any excursion a thousand times over. The highest peaks burned like islands in a sea of liquid shade. Then the lower peaks and spires caught the glow, and long lances of light, streaming through many a notch and pass, fell thick on the frozen meadows.
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The Big Tree is Nature's forest masterpiece, and so far as I know, the greatest of living things.
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How infinitely superior to our physical senses are those of the mind!
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Rivers flow not past, but through us tingling, vibrating, exciting every cell and fiber in our bodies, making them sing and glide.
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