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

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
Wilderness
Direction
Mountaineer
Mountain
Yellowstone
Taste
Hiker
Walk
Yosemite
Walks
Mountaineering
Freedom
Hiking
Away
Quietly

More quotes by John Muir

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Trees go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the sun two million miles a day, and through space heaven knows how fast and far!
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The wrongs done to trees, wrongs of every sort, are done in the darkness of ignorance and unbelief, for when the light comes, the heart of the people is always right.
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None of Nature's landscapes are ugly so long as they are wild.
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When a man plants a tree, he plants himself.
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How infinitely superior to our physical senses are those of the mind!
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Yet how hard most people work for mere dust and ashes and care, taking no thought of growing in knowledge and grace, never having time to get in sight of their own ignorance.
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Books are but stepping stones to show you where other minds have been.
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The grand show is eternal It is always sunrise somewhere
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Over the summit, I saw the so-called Mono desert lying dreamily silent in the thick, purple light -- a desert of heavy sun-glare beheld from a desert of ice-burnished granite.
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I am hopelessly and forever a mountaineer.
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One may as well dam for water tanks the people's cathedrals and churches, for no holier temple has ever been consecrated by the heart of man.
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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 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 power of imagination makes us infinite.
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A little pure wildness is the one great present want, both of men and sheep.
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We all flow from one fountain- Soul. All are expressions of one love.
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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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The water in music the oar forsakes. The air in music the wing forsakes. All things in move in music and write it. The mouse, lizard, and grasshopper sing together on the Turlock sands, sing with the morning stars.
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Imagination is usually regarded as a synonym for the unreal. Yet is true imagination healthful and real, no more likely to mislead than the coarse senses. Indeed, the power of imagination makes us infinite.
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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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