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I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
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
Animal
Stars
Belief
Less
Leafs
Natural
Leaf
Nature
Pet
Work
Grass
Believe
Journey
More quotes by Walt Whitman
A man can be a hero in any profession
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Are you the new person drawn toward me? To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose.
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The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it.
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Sail Forth- Steer for the deep waters only. Reckless O soul, exploring. I with thee and thou with me. For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared go. And we will risk the ship, ourselves, and all.
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Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
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Most works are most beautiful without ornament.
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The truth is simple. If it was complicated, everyone would understand it.
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I am the man, I suffered, I was there.
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Americans should know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.
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Either define the moment or the moment will define you.
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Long have you timidly waded Holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, Rise again, nod to me, shout, And laughingly dash with your hair.
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Great is the faith of the flush of knowledge and of the investigation of the depths of qualities and things.
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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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The mother condemned for a witch and burnt with dry wood, and her children gazing on The hounded slave that flags in the race and leans by the fence, blowing and covered with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, The murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am.
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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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Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.
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Behold I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.
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From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines. Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute. Listening to others, and considering well what they say. Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating. Gently but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
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To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.
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