Tom Brown, Jr. Quotes

We learned to be patient observers like the owl. We learned cleverness from the crow, and courage from the jay, who will attack an owl ten times its size to drive it off its territory. But above all of them ranked the chickadee because of its indomitable spirit.

The place where you lose the trail is not necessarily the place where it ends.

If today I had a young mind to direct, to start on the journey of life, and I was faced with the duty of choosing between the natural way of my forefathers and that of the... present way of civilization, I would, for its welfare, unhesitatingly set that child's feet in the path of my forefathers. I would raise him to be an Indian!

The first track is the end of a string. At the far end, a being is moving; a mystery, dropping a hint about itself every so many feet, telling you more about itself until you can almost see it, even before you come to it. The mystery reveals itself slowly, track by track, giving its genealogy early to coax you in. Further on, it will tell you the intimate details of its life and work, until you know the maker of the track like a lifelong friend.

This earth is a garden, this life a banquet, and it's time we realized that it was given to all life, animal and man, to enjoy.

There are paths and ruts in the spirit world as there are in the physical and mental world. One must take the tools of the spirit world and make one's own path rather than exactly follow the paths of those who once were . . . You must not seek their path and their understanding, but you must seek your own. The ruts of the spirit are trying to follow others and it cannot be done.

Immerse yourself in nature’s symphony and let your senses burst with joy.

Evil can be a teacher, if you look at the wisdom of its negative power.

A lost trail always extends beyond the evidence, and even the trails we find are only fragments of the trails that lie beyond our comprehension.

We walk ourselves into ruts so deep we cannot see over them.

A prison! heav'ns, I loath the hated name, Famine's metropolis, the sink of shame, A nauseous sepulchre, whose craving womb Hourly inters poor mortals in its tomb; By ev'ry plague and ev'ry ill possess'd, Ev'n purgatory itself to thee 's a jest.

I don't see how anybody could have a passion for nature without having an equally developed tolerance for the cold.

Complacency makes one as guilty as those who destroy the Earth.

If we are going to allow somebody to request a recount, the intent obviously is that you expect a recount to be included.