The industrial corporation is the natural enemy of nature.

The industrial corporation is the natural enemy of nature.
At some point we must draw a line across the ground of our home and our being, drive a spear into the land and say to the bulldozers, earthmovers, government and corporations, "thus far and no further."
In this nation of bleating sheep and braying jackasses, it then becomes an honor to be labeled curmudgeon.
And I am struck once again by the unutterable beauty, terror, and strangeness of everything we think we know.
The best people, like the best wines, come from the hills.
Music is a savage art, a measured madness.
I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.
The function of an ideal is not to be realized but, like that of the North Star, to serve as a guiding point.
When the situation is hopeless, there's nothing to worry about.
So long as they are unwilling to crawl out of their cars they will not discover the treasures of the national parks and will never escape the stress and turmoil of the urban-suburban complexes which they had hoped, presumably, to leave behind for a while.
The air is clean, the rock cuts cruelly into flesh; shatter the rock and the odor of flint rises to your nostrils, bitter and sharp. Whirlwinds dance across the salt flats, a pillar of dust by day; the thornbush breaks into flame at night.
In order to write a book, it is necessary to sit down (or stand up) and write. Therein lies the difficulty.
The ever-rising cost of living: Someday soon, the corporate technicians will be locking meters on our noses and charging us a royalty on the air we breathe.
So long as they are unwilling to crawl out of their cars they will not discover the treasures of the national parks and will never escape the stress and turmoil of the urban-suburban complexes which they had hoped, presumably, to leave behind for a while.
All gold is fool's gold.
The consolation of reading biography: Most great men have led lives even more miserable than our own.
No tyranny is so irksome as petty tyranny: the officious demands of policemen, government clerks, and electromechanical gadgets.
A great thirst is a great joy, when quenched in time.
Poetry -- even bad poetry -- may be our final hope.
Proverbs save us the trouble of thinking. What we call folk wisdom is often no more than a kind of expedient stupidity.