Quote

After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on - have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear - what remains? Nature remains.

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
Business
Satisfy
Found
Exhausted
Nature
Simplicity
Finally
Wear
None
Remains
Conviviality
Politics
Permanently

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Day full-blown and splendid-day of the immense sun, action, ambition, laughter, The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and restoring darkness.
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The past, the future, majesty, love - if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.
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Agonies are one of my changes of garments.
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O the joy of my spirit - it is uncaged - it darts like lightning!
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He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
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If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred.
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Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard.
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Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.
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The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.
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I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends.
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What is commonest and cheapest and nearest and easiest is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my goodwill, Scattering if freely forever.
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I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.
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The truest and greatest Poetry, (while subtly and necessarily always rhythmic, and distinguishable easily enough) can never again, in the English language, be express'd in arbitrary and rhyming metre, any more than the greatest eloquence, or the truest power and passion.
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The whole theory of the universe is directed unerringly to one single individual.
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Now I see the secret of making the best person: it is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.
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The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation: The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer, I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky.
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Strange, (is it not?) that battles, martyrs, blood, even assassination should so condense - perhaps only really lastingly condense - a Nationality.
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O magnet-South! O glistening perfumed South! My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!
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