His friend goes on: 'He walks often and likes it, but generally looks
for sunny places; he goes very slowly, which is fatal for me, for I
run when I walk ... Often he stands still and silent, as if there
were knots which he could not untie (in his thoughts). And truly
there are unknown depths of feeling as well as thought.'

In another place: 'He went out and gloated over the great scene of
immeasurable Nature. Orion and the Pleiades moved over his head, the
dear moon was opposite. Looking intently into her friendly face, he
greeted her repeatedly: "Moon, Moon, friend of my thoughts; hurry not
away, dear Moon, but stay. What is thy name? Laura, Cynthia, Cyllene?
Or shall I call thee beautiful Betty of the Sky?" ... He loved
country walks; we made for lonely places, dark fearsome thickets,
lonely unfrequented paths, scrambled up all the hills, spied out
every bit of Nature, came to rest at last under a shady rock ...
Klopstock's life is one constant enjoyment. He gives himself up to
feeling, and revels in Nature's feast ... Winter is his favourite
time of year....[11] He preaches skating with the unction of a
missionary to the heathen, and not without working miracles, ... the
ice by moonlight is a feast of the Gods to him ... only one rule, we
do not leave the river till the moon has gone.' Klopstock described
this in his _Skating_:

O youth, whose skill the ice-cothurn
Drives glowing now, and now restrains,
On city hearths let faggots burn,
But come with me to crystal plains.
The scene is filled with vapouring light,
As when the winter morning's prime
Looks on the lake. Above it night