"In the early morning one watches the silent battle of dawn and darkness on the waters of Tahoe with a placid interest but when the shadows skulk away and one by one the hidden beauties of the shore unfold themselves in the full splendor of noon; when the smooth surface is belted like a rainbow with broad bars of blue and green and white, half the distance from circumference to center, when in the lazy summer afternoon, he lies in a boat far out to where the dead blue of the deep water begins and smokes the pipe of peace and idly winks at the distant crags and patches of snow from under his cap brim; when the boat drifts shoreward to the white water, and he lolls over the gunwale and gazes by the hour down through the crystal depths and notes the color of the pebbles and reviews the finny armies gliding in procession a hundred feet below; when at night he sees moon and stars, mountain ridges feathered with pines, jutting white capes, bold promontories, grand sweeps of rugged scenery topped with bald glimmering peaks, all magnificently pictured in the polished mirror of the lake, in richest, softest detail the tranquil interest that was born with the morning deepens and deepens, by sure degrees, till it culminates at last in resistless fascination." Mark Twain