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Nature in her green, tranquil woods heals and soothes all afflictions.

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
Woods
Green
Nature
Soothes
Afflictions
Heals
Tranquil
Affliction
Heal

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Strange the faithless fuss made about taking a walk in the safest and pleasantest of all places, a wilderness.
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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.
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Writing is like the life of a glacier one eternal grind.
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How narrow we selfish conceited creatures are in our sympathies! How blind to the rights of all the rest of creation!
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Few places in this world are more dangerous than home. Fear not, therefore, to try the mountain passes. They will kill care, save you from deadly apathy, set you free, and call forth every faculty into vigorous, enthusiastic action.
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When a man plants a tree, he plants himself.
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Man and other civilized animals are the only creatures that ever become dirty.
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Any glimpse into the life of an animal quickens our own and makes it so much the larger and better in every way.
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Not blind opposition to progress,but opposition to blind progress.
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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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How many hearts with warm, red blood in them are beating under cover of the woods, and how many teeth and eyes are shining? A multitude of animal people, intimately related to us, but of whose lives we know almost nothing, are as busy about their own affairs as we are about ours.
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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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Our lives are rounded with a sleep.
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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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Quench love, and what is left of a man's life but the folding of a few jointed bones and square inches of flesh? Who would call that life?
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The power of imagination is infinite.
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The world is big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark.
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Raindrops blossom brilliantly in the rainbow, and change to flowers in the sod, but snow comes in full flower direct from the dark, frozen sky.
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Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts . . .
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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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