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A gloomy sensation of agonising, everlasting solitude and remoteness, took conscious form in his soul.

Literature is my Utopia. Here I am not disfranchised

The gloom of an eternal mourning enwraps, more or less closely, every serious and thoughtful soul, as night enwraps the universe.

In what concerns you much, do not think that you have companions: know that you are alone in the world.

Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes and longitudes.

Now at least the moon is full, and I walk alone, which is best by night, if not by day always.

Our thoughts would imply that other men have friends, though we have not.

The dear privacy and retirement and solitude which winter makes possible!

I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time.

Our life is frittered away by detail

I have found a dream of beauty at which one might look all one's life and sigh.

As there are silent depths in the ocean which the fiercest storm cannot reach, so there are silent, holy depths in the heart of man which the storms of sin and sorrow can never disturb.

Only spread a fern frond over a man's head and worldly cares are cast out, and freedom and beauty and peace come in.

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.

Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.

Thousands of God's wild blessings will search you and soak you as if you were sponge, and the big days will go by uncounted.

Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity

Standing here in the deep, brooding silence all the wilderness seems motionless, as if the work of creation were done.

For all the toll the desert takes of a man it gives compensations, deep breaths, deep sleep, and the communion of the stars.

Half surprised by the novelty of these sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them, and forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy.

An honest man’s pillow is his peace of mind, and when you lay down on the pillow at night, no matter who’s in our bed we all sleep alone.

The other great silences, those of death, grief, or destiny, do not belong to us.

There are men in whose presence the greatest of heroes would not dare to be silent; and even the soul that has nothing to conceal trembles lest another should discover its secret.

There is no silence more docile than the silence of love, and it is indeed the only one that we may claim for ourselves alone.

The greatest thing in the world is for a man to know that he is his own.