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

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
Tree
Harps
Music
Cathedrals
Every
Fiber
Life
Thrilling
Like
Cell
Strings
Throbbing
Cells
Harp
Hidden
Incense

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A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease.
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I...am always glad to touch the living rock again and dip my hand in the high mountain air.
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Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
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I always enjoyed the hearty society of a snowstorm.
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Wander a whole summer if you can. Time will not be taken from the sum of life. Instead of shortening, it will definitely lengthen it and make you truly immortal.
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Tug on anything in nature and you will find it connected to everything else.
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Man and other civilized animals are the only creatures that ever become dirty.
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My meals were easily made, for they were all alike and simple, only a cupful of tea and bread.
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To the lover of pure wildness Alaska is one of the most wonderful countries in the world.
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Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.
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We all travel the Milky Way together, trees and men.
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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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Who publishes the sheet-music of the winds or the music of water written in river-lines?
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In nothing does man, with his grand notions of heaven and charity, show forth his innate, low-bred, wild animalism more clearly than in his treatment of his brother beasts. From the shepherd with his lambs to the red-handed hunter, it is the same no recognition of rights - only murder in one form or another.
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What a psalm the storm was singing, and how fresh the smell of the washed earth and leaves, and how sweet the still small voices of the storm!
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A little pure wildness is the one great present want, both of men and sheep.
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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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But no temple made with hands can compare with Yosemite. Every rock in its walls seems to glow with life...as if into this one mountain mansion Nature had gathered her choicest treasures.
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Yosemite Park is a place of rest, a refuge from the roar and dust and weary, nervous, wasting work of the lowlands, in which one gains the advantages of both solitude and society.
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