Quote

Wander here a whole summer, if you can ... Thousands of wild blessings will search you and soak you as if you were a sponge, and the big days will go by uncounted

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
Summer
Sponge
Days
Sponges
Bigs
Blessings
Whole
Wander
Thousands
Search
Wild
Uncounted
Blessing
Soak

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…their eager, childlike attention was refreshing to see as compared with the decent, deathlike apathy of weary civilized people, in whom natural curiosity has been quenched in toil and care and poor, shallow comfort.
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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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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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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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At the touch of this divine light, the mountains seemed to kindle to a rapt, religious consciousness, and stood hushed like devout worshippers waiting to be blessed.
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Writing is like the life of a glacier one eternal grind.
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Handle a book as a bee does a flower, extract its sweetness but do not damage it.
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It is always interesting to see people in dead earnest, from whatever cause, and earthquakes make everybody earnest.
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Nature as a poet, an enthusiastic workingman, becomes more and more visible the farther and higher we go for the mountains are fountains – beginning places, however related to sources beyond mortal ken.
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One learns that the world, though made, is yet being made that this is still the morning of creation that mountains long conceived are now being born, channels traced for coming rivers, basins hollowed for lakes.
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The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.
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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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Man is always and everywhere a blight on the landscape.
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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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No Sierra landscape that I have seen holds anything truly dead or dull, or any trace of what in manufactories is called rubbish or waste everything is perfectly clean and pure and full of divine lessons.
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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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I am hopelessly and forever a mountaineer.
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...every sight and sound inspiring, leading one far out of himself, yet feeding and building up his individuality.
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