John Burroughs

How beautifully the leaves grow old. How full of light and colour are their last days.

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.

England is like the margin of a spring-run: near its source, always green, always cool, always moist, comparatively free from frost in winter and from drought in summer.

Do not despise your own place and hour. Every place is under the stars, every place is the center of the world.