“How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!”

“O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beamsThat bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.”

“This time it is real — all must die, and where could mountaineer find a more glorious death!”

“The little cloud drifting before their glorious sun will darken the earth as long as I please.”

“How glorious it is – and also how painful – to be an exception. ”

“The secret of the mountain is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no "meaning," they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.”