RJ Boyle

“I have not yet walked the forest trails, high meadows, snows and rocks of the Alpine Lakes area of the Cascades; even so, I do not feel myself a stranger there. Great many wild places of Earth I have not visited, and never shall be able to, but I have known some of them intimately, with delight, and thus claim citizenship of all the wild place of all the states and nations of all the continents and seas.

From citizenship comes responsibility to care.”
― David Brower

“Among the most beautiful things I've ever heard anyone say came from my student Bethany, talking about her pedagogical aspirations or ethos, how she wanted to be as a teacher, and what she wanted her classrooms to be: "What if we joined our wildernesses together?" Sit with that for a minute. That the body, the life, might carry a wilderness, an unexpected territory, and that yours and mine might somewhere, somehow, meet. Might, even, join.
And what if the wilderness - perhaps the densest wild in there - thickets, bogs, swamps, uncrossable ravines and rivers (have I made the metaphor clear?) - is our sorrow? Or... the 'intolerable.' It astonishes me sometimes - no, often - how every person I get to know - everyone, regardless of everything, by which I mean everything - lives with some profound personal sorrow... Everyone, regardless, always, of everything. Not to mention the existential sorrow we all might be afflicted with, which is that we, and what we love, will soon be annihilated. Which sounds more dramatic than it might. Let me just say dead. Is this, sorrow, of which our impending being no more might be the foundation, the great wilderness?
Is sorrow the true wild?
And if it is - and if we join them - your wild to mine - what's that?
For joining, too, is a kind of annihilation.
What if we joined our sorrow, I'm saying.
I'm saying: What if that is joy?”
― Ross Gay, The Book of Delights: Essays

“...which is simply called sharing what we love, what we find beautiful, which is an ethics.”
― Ross Gay, The Book of Delights: Essays

“You can love completely without complete understanding.”
― Norman MacLean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories