C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.


On every mountain-height is rest.


Hills peep o’er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!


Men meet; mountains, never.

Lewis Cass.

  • Round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
  • Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
  • Goldsmith.

    See the mountains kiss high heavens, and the waves clasp one another.


    Whoever has not ascended mountains knows little of the beauties of Nature.

    William Howitt.

    Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky.


    Without mountains the air could not be purified, nor the flowing of the rivers sustained.


    A proud heart and a lofty mountain are never fruitful.

    George Eliot.

  • ’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
  • And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
  • Campbell.

    Mountains have a grand, stupid, lovable tranquillity.

    O. W. Holmes.

    The hills, rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.


    The ragged cliff has thousand faces in a thousand hours.


  • Mountains interposed
  • Make enemies of nations, who had else
  • Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
  • Cowper.

  • Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;
  • They crown’d him long ago
  • On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
  • With a diadem of snow.
  • Byron.

  • No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
  • But winter lingering chills the lap of May;
  • No zephyr fondly sues the mountain’s breast,
  • But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
  • Goldsmith.

  • Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines!
  • In the soft light of these serenest skies;
  • From the broad highland region, black with pines,
  • Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise,
  • Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold
  • In rosy flushes on the virgin gold.
  • William Cullen Bryant.

  • I know a mount, the gracious Sun perceives
  • First when he visits, last, too, when he leaves
  • The world; and, vainly favored, it repays
  • The day-long glory of his steadfast gaze
  • By no change of its large calm front of snow.
  • Robert Browning.

    Mountains never shake hands. Their roots may touch; they may keep together some way up; but at length they part company, and rise into individual, insulated peaks. So is it with great men.

    J. C. and A. W. Hare.

  • He who first met the Highland’s swelling blue,
  • Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue;
  • Hail in each crag a friend’s familiar face,
  • And clasp the mountain in his mind’s embrace.
  • Byron.

  • Above me are the Alps,
  • The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
  • Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,
  • And thron’d Eternity in icy halls
  • Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
  • The avalanche—the thunderbolt of snow!
  • All that expands the spirit, yet appals,
  • Gather round these summits, as to show
  • How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.
  • Byron.