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In the woods is perpetual youth.

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
Health
Nature
Perpetual
Woods
Youth

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It is a vast wilderness of rocks in a sea of light, colored and glowing like oak and maple in autumn, when the sun gold is richest
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Come to the woods, for here is rest.
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Going to the mountains is going home.
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Take a course in good water and air and in the eternal youth of Nature you may renew your own. Go quietly, alone no harm will befall you.
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I know that our bodies were made to thrive only in pure air, and the scenes in which pure air is found.
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Word lessons, in particular the wouldst couldst shouldst have loved kind, were kept up, with much warlike thrashing, until I had committed the whole of French, Latin, and English grammars to memory.
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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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Surely all God's people, however serious or savage, great or small, like to play.
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When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.
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A little pure wildness is the one great present want, both of men and sheep.
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...full of God's thoughts, a place of peace and safety amid the most exalted grandeur and enthusiastic action, a new song, a place of beginnings abounding in first lessons of life, mountain building, eternal, invincible, unbreakable order with sermons in stone, storms, trees, flowers, and animals brimful with humanity.
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The forests of America, however slighted by man, must have been a great delight to God for they were the best he ever planted.
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Some people miss flesh as a drunkard misses his dram.
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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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In this silent, serene wilderness the weary can gain a heart-bath in perfect peace.
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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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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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What is worthwhile in life? I think it is worth living and dreaming. If you don't you may be dead anyhow - inside.
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Ink cannot tell the glow that lights me at this moment in turning to the mountains. I feel strong [enough] to leap Yosemite walls at a bound.
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The world, we are told, was made especially for man - a presumption not supported by all the facts... Why should man value himself as more than a small part of the one great unit of creation?
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