“Material wealth never seemed to matter much to my dear friend Layton. He was born in poverty and lived it all his life with great dignity. He was very very rich, in terms of how much life he had in him, how much life he went out and embraced, how much joy he brought his friends, and a little terror（因為 Kor 的路線都很挑戰）. As I have said elsewhere, he was one of the most fully realized human beings on the planet.”
" . . . his climbing wasn’t about glory or legacy. Instead, for Kor, climbing was part of the urgent, existential soul-searching that represented his generation as a whole . . . "
"Layton inspired me even more deeply during his last few years. As I got to know him better I discovered a kind, compassionate, and gentle soul who never complained of the discomfort and indignities that he almost constantly experienced, and who was still just as excited about climbing as he was in the 1960s. His sense of humor and appreciation of the absurd never waned, even as his body failed him. I hope that when the Reaper comes for me I can face him with the good humor, courage, self-deprecation, and unflappable style that Layton unfailingly exhibited."
"Being away from home for the first time and an impressionable 18 year old, what I received from Layton more than any climbing knowledge, was an appreciation for life with all its absurdities and an introduction to a world beyond the small town conservatism I had experienced until then . . . Often through the years, I have heard him in the back of my mind saying to me, “Just got for it and see what happens”. In time circumstances and marriage to another climber intervened and we lost touch with each other . . . we did not meet again until nearly 50 years later . . . At one level Layton was the same; at another very changed . . . Humbled by his disease, he had developed a fine sense of irony and compassion. A fun loving bohemian had transformed into a great human being. Or perhaps he had been that all along and it was I who had changed . . . Now I also remember him for his great dignity and strength of character, right up to the painful and exhausting end."
"I think I know what people mean when they say Layton did not complain about his illnesses . . . He certainly did, though, talk about his ailments . . . He certainly did share with me, speak candidly about, his discomfort, the pain he had, the fatigue, how old and bothersome dialysis was, and what medicine did what or failed altogether. We both did some complaining about how we wanted to find the strength again to get out and climb . . . It seemed so strange to me, in that once he would jump into his car and go anywhere on a whim . . . "
Steve Roper，"Camp 4" 以及 "The Fifty Classic Climbs of North America" 的作者，用他一貫生動、文雅的筆觸寫下他和 Kor 首攀 El Capitan West Buttress（A3/5.9 或 5.13c，見附圖）的片斷，讓我們看到年輕的 Kor：
"Every Yosemite climber of the early ’60s knew of Kor’s prowess on rock, but a few neophytes were blissfully unaware of his powers of persuasion. To climb with Kor was to be in the company of a master, and when the master called upon you—well, there was no possibility of refusal . . .
Kor lured Beck to the West Buttress as easily as the Pied Piper ensnared the children of Hamelin . . . But it was hard going, and after several climbing days spread out over a fortnight, Beck realized he was out of his league, mentally if not physically . . .
Jim Harper was next; he lasted a day, as did Kor’s third partner, Ed Cooper. Beck went up once again in a futile attempt to conquer his fears. Now it was my turn . . . I too fell prey to the soft ministrations of Kor, and I too was lured unwillingly to the West Buttress . . .
I will never forget the overall feeling of the next three days. I cannot conjure up individual pitches—thankfully, I must add—but certain segments have permeated my consciousness. One incident, a trivial one, still amuses me. There I was, nervously affixed to a vast plate of granite by strings and spikes. Kor arrived at my hanging belay station bristling with an enormous rack of iron. Without pausing, he clambered over me as if I were a mere set of handholds and footholds. The iron rudely caressed my body; flailing limbs knocked my glasses askew. Seconds later, his feet treading my hair, he was driving a piton, asking for my remaining iron, and attaching the haul rope. I gazed at him in wonderment.
Near sunset of the second day we found ourselves close to the rim, huddled on tiny bivouac ledges separated by 40 feet or so. Kor settled onto the higher ledge in the twilight. From my perch I watched the Ribbon Fall Amphitheater turn golden, an entrancing sight. Kor, always uneasy when alone, rappelled to my ledge for social reasons, pleading with me to search my brain and come up with esoteric variations on the word that described a certain female feature. Normally I would have responded to such a request with gusto, but my reverie was so profound that I demurred. But finally it became too difficult to remain aloof from Kor’s power, and I rattled on and on as nightfall arrived and Kor reluctantly swung hand over hand back to his lonely granite aerie."