26
It is not down in any map; true places never are
The complete collection
It is not down in any map; true places never are
I have found a dream of beauty at which one might look all one's life and sigh.
This is a glorious region, and the air and life are intoxicating.
The greatness and the minuteness of nature pass all understanding.
The emotions excited by the songs of these thrushes belong to a higher order, springing as they do from our deepest sense of the beauty and harmony of the world.
Every artist does something more than copy Nature; more comes out in his account than goes into the original experience.
Nature loves such woods, and places her own seal upon them.
Every feature became more rigidly alpine, without, however, producing any chilling effect; for going to the mountains is like going home.
Standing here in the deep, brooding silence all the wilderness seems motionless, as if the work of creation were done.
After listening to it in all kinds of winds, night and day, season after season, I think I could approximate to my position on the mountains by this pine-music alone.
Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
Thousands of God's wild blessings will search you and soak you as if you were sponge, and the big days will go by uncounted.
Nowhere will you see the majestic operations of nature more clearly revealed beside the frailest, most gentle and peaceful things.
As age comes on, one source of enjoyment after another is closed, but Nature's sources never fail.
Fears vanish as soon as one is fairly free in the wilderness.
Only spread a fern frond over a man's head and worldly cares are cast out, and freedom and beauty and peace come in.
The dullest eye in the world must surely be quickened by such trees as these.
Everything kept in joyful rhythmic motion in the pulses of Nature's big heart.
Beauty beyond thought everywhere, beneath, above, made and being made forever.
The whole world seems richer now that I have found this plant in so noble a landscape.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
Beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
Observe continually that all things exist in change; and keep this thought ever with you, that Nature loves nothing more than changing what things now are, and making others like them.
Death, like birth, is a mystery of nature; the one a compounding of elements, the other a resolution into the same.
We especially need imagination in science. It is not all mathematics, nor all logic, but it is somewhat beauty and poetry.