Quote

The substance of the winds is too thin for human eyes, their written language is too difficult for human minds, and their spoken language mostly too faint for the ears.

John Muir

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

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
Eyes
Mostly
Stars
Substance
Eye
Clouds
Language
Ears
Difficult
Minds
Faint
Human
Air
Winds
Humans
Wind
Spoken
Mind
Written
Thin

More quotes by John Muir

Image
We all flow from one fountain.
John Muir
Image
None of Nature's landscapes are ugly so long as they are wild.
John Muir
Image
The blessings of one mountain day, whatever his fate, long life, short life, stormy or calm, he is rich forever.
John Muir
Image
Most people who travel look only at what they are directed to look at. Great is the power of the guidebook maker, however ignorant.
John Muir
Image
I was awakened by a tremendous earthquake, and though I hadn ever before enjoyed a storm of this sort, the strange thrilling motion could not be mistaken, and I ran out of my cabin, both glad and frightened, shouting, A noble earthquake! A noble earthquake feeling sure I was going to learn something.
John Muir
Image
Handle a book as a bee does a flower, extract its sweetness but do not damage it.
John Muir
Image
The bat­tle we have fought, and are still fight­ing for the forests is a part of the eter­nal con­flict between right and wrong, and we can­not expect to see the end of it. …So we must count on watch­ing and striv­ing for these trees, and should always be glad to find any­thing so surely good and noble to strive for.
John Muir
Image
No words will ever describe the exquisite beauty and charm of this mountain park – Nature’s landscape garden at once tenderly beautiful and sublime. No wonder it draws nature-lovers from all over the world.
John Muir
Image
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.
John Muir
Image
Man is always and everywhere a blight on the landscape.
John Muir
Image
We all flow from one fountain- Soul. All are expressions of one love.
John Muir
Image
The mountains are fountains not only of rivers and fertile soil, but of men.
John Muir
Image
All Nature's wildness tells the same story: the shocks and outbursts of earthquakes, volcanoes, geysers, roaring, thundering waves and floods, the silent uprush of sap in plants, storms of every sort, each and all, are the orderly, beauty-making love-beats of Nature's heart.
John Muir
Image
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.
John Muir
Image
I've had a great time in South America and South Africa. Indeed it now seems that on this pair of wild hot continents I've enjoyed the most fruitful year of my life.
John Muir
Image
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
John Muir
Image
No temple made with hands can compare with Yosemite.
John Muir
Image
In the beauty and grandeur of individual trees, and in number and variety of species, the Sierra forests surpass all others
John Muir
Image
I should study Nature's laws in all their crossings and unions I should follow magnetic streams to their source and follow the shores of our magnetic oceans. I should go among the rays of the aurora, and follow them to their beginnings, and study their dealings and communications with other powers and expressions of matter.
John Muir
Image
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!
John Muir