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

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
Glacier
Glaciers
Grind
Eternal
Writing
Life
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Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
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A lifetime is so little a time that we die before we get ready to live. I should like to study at a college, but then I have to say to myself: You will die before you can do anything else.
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Going into the woods, is going home
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Take a course in good water and air and in the eternal youth of Nature you may renew your own. Go quietly, alone no harm will befall you.
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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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The power of imagination is infinite.
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When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty.
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Wherever a Scotsman goes, here goes Burns. His grand whole, catholic soul squares with the good of all therefore we find him in everything, everywhere.
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Winds are advertisements of all they touch, however much or little we may be able to read them telling their wanderings even by their scents alone.
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I have enjoyed the trees & scenery of KY exceedingly. How shall I ever tell of the miles & miles of beauty that have been flowing into me in such measure?
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I will follow my instincts, be myself for good or ill, and see what will be the upshot.
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...Good luck and Good work for the happy mountain raindrops, each one of them a high waterfall in itself, descending from the cliffs and hollows of the clouds to the cliffs and hollows of the rocks, out of the sky-thunder into the thunder of the falling rivers.
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Ink cannot tell the glow that lights me at this moment in turning to the mountains. I feel strong [enough] to leap Yosemite walls at a bound.
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The moon is looking down into the canyon, and how marvelously the great rocks kindle to her light! Every dome, and brow, and swelling boss touched by her white rays, glows as if lighted with snow.
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Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
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Anyhow we never know where we must go, nor what guides we are to get - -people,storms, guardian angels, or sheep.
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There is that in the glance of a flower which may at times control the greatest of creation's braggart lords.
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I am hopelessly and forever a mountaineer.
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In the eternal youth of Nature, you may renew your own.
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Only spread a fern-frond over a man's head and worldly cares are cast out, and freedom and beauty and peace come in.
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