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I wonder if leaves feel lonely when they see their neighbors falling?

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
Leaves
Lonely
Wonder
Fall
Feel
Feels
Neighbors
Falling
Neighbor

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The blessings of one mountain day, whatever his fate, long life, short life, stormy or calm, he is rich forever.
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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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Man and other civilized animals are the only creatures that ever become dirty.
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Hiking. I don't like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains...the se mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not 'hike' through them.
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A lifetime is so little a time that we die before we get ready to live. I should like to study at a college, but then I have to say to myself: You will die before you can do anything else.
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The mountains are fountains not only of rivers and fertile soil, but of men.
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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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Trees go wandering forth in all directions with every wind, going and coming like ourselves, traveling with us around the sun two million miles a day, and through space heaven knows how fast and far!
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Divine love is the sublime boss of the universe.
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The mountains are fountains of men as well as of rivers, of glaciers, of fertile soil. The great poets, philosophers, prophets, able men whose thoughts and deeds have moved the world, have come down from the mountains - mountain dwellers who have grown strong there with the forest trees in Nature's workshops.
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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.
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A little pure wildness is the one great present want, both of men and sheep.
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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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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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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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Who publishes the sheet-music of the winds or the music of water written in river-lines?
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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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Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts . . .
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When one tugs at a single thing in nature he finds it attached to the rest of the world. Variant - When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe. Variant - Tug on anything at all and you'll find it connected to everything else in the universe.
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