A little pure wildness is the one great present want, both of men and sheep.

One may as well dam for water tanks the people's cathedrals and churches, for no holier temple has ever been consecrated by the heart of man.

Doubly happy, however, is the man to whom lofty mountain tops are within reach.

We all travel the Milky Way together, trees and men.

When a man plants a tree, he plants himself.

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?

Man is always and everywhere a blight on the landscape.

The mountains are fountains not only of rivers and fertile soil, but of men.

How hard to realize that every camp of men or beast has this glorious starry firmament for a roof! In such places standing alone on the mountain-top it is easy to realize that whatever special nests we make - leaves and moss like the marmots and birds, or tents or piled stone - we all dwell in a house of one room - the world with the firmament for its roof - and are sailing the celestial spaces without leaving any track.