It Must Be Poor Life

We Reached The Old Wolf In Time To Watch A Fierce Green Fire Dying In Her Eyes. I Realized Then, And Have Known Ever Since, That There Was Something New To Me In Those Eyes – Something Known Only To Her And To The Mountain. I Was Young Then, And Full Of Trigger-itch; I Thought That Because Fewer Wolves Meant More Deer, That No Wolves Would Mean Hunters’ Paradise. But After Seeing The Green Fire Die, I Sensed That Neither The Wolf Nor The Mountain Agreed With Such A View.

No Matter How Intently One Studies The Hundred Little Dramas Of The Woods And Meadows, One Can Never Learn All The Salient Facts About Any One Of Them.

In Wildness Is The Salvation Of The World.

We Console Ourselves With The Comfortable Fallacy That A Single Museum Piece Will Do, Ignoring The Clear Dictum Of History That A Species Must Be Saved In Many Places If It Is To Be Saved At All.

There Can Be No Doubt That A Society Rooted In The Soil Is More Stable Than One Rooted In Pavements.