Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
A city that outdistances man's walking powers is a trap for man.
Paris... is a world meant for the walker alone, for only the pace of strolling can take in all the rich (if muted) detail.
For [Jane Austen and the readers of Pride and Prejudice], as for Mr. Darcy, [Elizabeth Bennett's] solitary walks express the independence that literally takes the heroine out of the social sphere of the houses and their inhabitants, into a larger, lonelier world where she is free to think: walking articulates both physical and mental freedom.
My yesterdays walk with me. They keep step, they are gray faces that peer over my shoulder.
A path is a prior interpretation of the best way to traverse a landscape.
Everyone has the right to walk from one end of the city to the other in secure and beautiful spaces. Everybody has the right to go by public transport. Everybody has the right to an unhampered view down their street, not full of railings, signs and rubbish.
Walking . . . is how the body measures itself against the earth.
When I walk with you I feel as if I had a flower in my buttonhole.
Reading and sauntering and lounging and dosing, which I call thinking, is my supreme Happiness.
I grew up in New Hampshire. My closest neighbor was a mile away. The deer and the raccoons were my friends. So I would spend time walking through the woods, looking for the most beautiful tropical thing that can survive the winter in the woods in New Hampshire.
There comes . . . a longing never to travel again except on foot.
A pessimist sees only the dark side of the clouds and mopes; a philosopher sees both sides and shrugs; an optimist doesn't see the clouds at all - he's walking on them.
Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury; signifying nothing.
My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She's ninety-seven now, and we don't know where the hell she is.
Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed.
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