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In the beauty and grandeur of individual trees, and in number and variety of species, the Sierra forests surpass all others

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
Number
Tree
Sierra
Numbers
Surpass
Beauty
Grandeur
Individual
Forests
Others
Trees
Variety
Species

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When a man plants a tree, he plants himself.
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To ask me whether I could endure to live without friends is absurd. It is easy enough to live out of material sight of friends, but to live without human love is impossible.
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As long as I live, I'll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing. I'll interpret the rocks, learn the language of flood, storm, and the avalanche. I'll acquaint myself with the glaciers and wild gardens, and get as near the heart of the world as I can.
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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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Most people who travel look only at what they are directed to look at. Great is the power of the guidebook maker, however ignorant.
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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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There is not a fragment in all nature, for every relative fragment of one thing is a full harmonious unit in itself.
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In every country the mountains are fountains, not only of rivers but of men. Therefore we all are born mountaineers, the offspring of rock and sunshine.
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John Muir, Earth-planet, Universe.
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The power of imagination makes us infinite.
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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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But to gain a perfect view, one must go yet further, over a curving brow to a slight shelf on the extreme brink.
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In the woods is perpetual youth.
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Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.
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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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I wonder if leaves feel lonely when they see their neighbors falling?
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These beautiful days ... do not exist as mere pictures - maps hung upon the walls of memory to brighten at times when touched by association or will ... They saturate themselves into every part of the body and live always.
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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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Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world.
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These temple destroyers, devotees of ravaging commercialism, seem to have a perfect contempt for Nature, and, instead of lifting their eyes to the God of the mountains, lift them to the Almighty Dollar.
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