Forrest

“To wake up on a gloriously bright morning, in a tent pitched beneath spruce trees, and to look out lazily and sleepily for a moment from the open side of the tent, across the dead camp-fire of the night before, to the river, where the light of morning rests and perhaps some early-rising[240] native is gliding in his birch canoe; to go to the river and freshen one's self with the cold water, and yell exultingly to the gulls and hell-divers, in the very joy of living; or to wake at night, when you have rolled in your blankets in the frost-stricken dying grass without a tent, and to look up through the leaves above to the dark sky and the flashing stars, and hear far off the call of a night bird or the howl of a wolf: this is the poetry, the joy of a wild and roving existence, which cannot come too often”
― Josiah Edward Spurr, Through the Yukon Gold Diggings

“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols

“The smog was heavy, my eyes were weeping from it, the sun was hot, the air stank, a regular hell is L.A.”
― Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

“Still, it was better to swear an oath and never follow through than not even to bother with the oath. Wasn't it?”
― Joe Abercrombie, Best Served Cold