Quote

O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, you express me better than I can express myself.

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
Travel
Afraid
Leave
Public
Back
Better
Tourism
Love
Express
Road

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The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections.
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I hate commas in the wrong places.
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There is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheeled universe.
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The soul is always beautiful, it appears more or it appears less, it comes or it lags behind, It comes from its embowered garden and looks pleasantly on itself and encloses the world.
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The fruition of beauty is no chance of hit or miss... it is inevitable as life.
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O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done.
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My words itch at your ears till you understand them
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I say no body of men are fit to make Presidents, judges and generals, unless they themselves supply the best specimens of the same and that supplying one or two such specimens illuminates the whole body for a thousand years.
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I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of a man.
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That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again and ever again, this soiled world.
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Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking bird's throat, the musical shuttle, . . . . A reminiscence sing.
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Press close, bare-bosomed Night! Press close, magnetic, nourishing Night! Night of south winds! Night of the large, few stars! Still, nodding Night! Mad, naked, Summer Night!
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Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.
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There can be no theory of any account unless it corroborate with the theory of the earth.
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Be not ashamed women, ... You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.
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Loafe with me on the grass—loose the stop from your throat Not words, not music or rhyme I want—not custom or lecture, not even the best Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
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Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.
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This face is a dog's snout sniffing for garbage, snakes nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat.
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We arrange our lives-even the best and boldest men and women that exist, just as much as the most limited-with reference to what society conventionally rules and makes right.
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