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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Rivers flow not past, but through us tingling, vibrating, exciting every cell and fiber in our bodies, making them sing and glide.
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Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.
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None of Nature's landscapes are ugly so long as they are wild.
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Walk away quietly in any direction and taste the freedom of the mountaineer.
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Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt.
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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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Going to the mountains is going home.
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The mountains are fountains not only of rivers and fertile soil, but of men.
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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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Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts and if people in general could be got into the woods, even for once, to hear the trees speak for themselves, all difficulties in the way of forest preservation would vanish.
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Government protection should be thrown around every wild grove and forest on the mountains, as it is around every private orchard, and the trees in public parks. To say nothing of their value as fountains of timber, they are worth infinitely more than all the gardens and parks of towns.
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Winds are advertisements of all they touch, however much or little we may be able to read them telling their wanderings even by their scents alone.
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Surely all God's people, however serious or savage, great or small, like to play.
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I wonder if leaves feel lonely when they see their neighbors falling?
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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.
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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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Divine love is the sublime boss of the universe.
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Not blind opposition to progress,but opposition to blind progress.
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Between every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life.
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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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