Take A Course In Good Water And

When One Tugs At A Single Thing In Nature, He Finds It Attached To The Rest Of The World.

Going To The Woods Is Going Home, For I Suppose We Came From The Woods Originally.

A Few Minutes Ago Every Tree Was Excited, Bowing To The Roaring Storm, Waving, Swirling, Tossing Their Branches In Glorious Enthusiasm Like Worship. But Though To The Outer Ear These Trees Are Now Silent, Their Songs Never Cease.

Nature In Her Green, Tranquil Woods Heals And Soothes All Afflictions.

Indians Walk Softly And Hurt The Landscape Hardly More Than The Birds And Squirrels, And Their Brush And Bark Huts Last Hardly Longer Than Those Of Wood Rats, While Their More Enduring Monuments, Excepting Those Wrought On The Forests By The Fires They Made To Improve Their Hunting Grounds, Vanish In A Few Centuries.