To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with read more

To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.

Occurrences in this domain are beyond the reach of exact prediction because of the variety of factors in operation, not read more

Occurrences in this domain are beyond the reach of exact prediction because of the variety of factors in operation, not because of any lack of order in nature.

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.

Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.

Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.

What is tolerance? -- it is the consequence of humanity. We are all formed of frailty and error; let us read more

What is tolerance? -- it is the consequence of humanity. We are all formed of frailty and error; let us pardon reciprocally each other's folly -- that is the first law of nature.

Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of read more

Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space.

I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can read more

I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.

Art is harmony. Harmony is the analogy of contrary and of similar elements of tone, of color and of line, read more

Art is harmony. Harmony is the analogy of contrary and of similar elements of tone, of color and of line, conditioned by the dominate key, and under the influence of a particular light, in gay, calm, or sad combinations.

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of read more

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.