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Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.

Walt Whitman

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Walt Whitman
Age: 72 †
Born: 1819
Born: May 31
Died: 1892
Died: March 26
Editor
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Nurse
Poet
Writer
West Hills
New York
Walter Whitman
Life
Math
Containing
Large
Contradictory
Inspirational
Multitudes
Truth
Contain
Change
Paradox
Wells
Diverse
Dissonance
Well
Contradiction
Contradicting
Self
Mathematical
Contradict

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Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems
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This is the city, and I am one of the citizens/Whatever interests the rest interests me
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I tramp a perpetual journey.
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Thunder on! Stride on! Democracy. Strike with vengeful stroke!
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Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems
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It is a beautiful truth that all men contain something of the artist in them. And perhaps it is the case that the greatest artists live and die, the world and themselves alike ignorant what they possess.
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Silence? What can New York-noisy, roaring, rumbling, tumbling, bustling, story, turbulent New York-have to do with silence? Amid the universal clatter, the incessant din of business, the all swallowing vortex of the great money whirlpool-who has any, even distant, idea of the profound repose......of silence?
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O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
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But the people are ungrammatical, untidy, and their sins gaunt and ill-bred.
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The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.
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I dreamed in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth I dreamed that was the new City of Friends Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love—it led the rest It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city, And in all their looks and words.
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I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul.
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Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand.
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I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
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The future is no more uncertain than the present.
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I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained, I stand and look at them long and long.
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There will soon be no more priests... They may wait awhile, perhaps a generation or two, dropping off by degrees. A superior breed shall take their place. A new order shall arise and they shall be the priests of man, and every man shall be his own priest.
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