I love you not only for who you are, but for what you are when I am with you; I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but what you are making of me; I love you because you have done more than any creed could have done to make me good, and more than any fate could have done to make me happy; You have done it without a touch, without a word, without a sign; You have done it by being yourself. Perhaps that is what being a friend means, after all;
I remember a hundred lovely lakes, and recall the fragrant breath of pine and fir and cedar and poplar trees. The trail has strung upon it, as upon a thread of silk, opalescent dawns and saffron sunsets. It has given me blessed release from care and worry and the troubled thinking of our modern day. It has been a return to the primitive and the peaceful. Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and benumbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me - I am happy.
__Hamlin Garland, McClure's, February 1899