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Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged. Missing me one place, search another. I stop somewhere waiting for you.
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
Stop
Waiting
Fetch
Keep
Encouraged
Another
Grieving
Place
Search
Firsts
Somewhere
First
Missing
Failing
More quotes by Walt Whitman
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road. Healthy, free, the world before me. The long brown path before me leading me wherever I choose. Henceforth, I ask not good fortune, I myself am good fortune. Henceforth, I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing.
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Without enough wilderness America will change. Democracy, with its myriad personalities and increasing sophistication, must be fibred and vitalized by regular contact with outdoor growths - animals, trees, sun warmth and free skies - or it will dwindle and pale.
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I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
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The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first Be not discouraged - keep on - there are divine things, well envelop'd I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.
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Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.
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Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard.
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Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.
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Every moment of light and dark is a miracle.
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My ties and ballasts leave me - I travel - I sail - My elbows rest in the sea-gaps. I skirt the sierras. My palms cover continents - I am afoot with my vision.
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O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish what good amid these, O me, O life?
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Produce great men, the rest follows.
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Now I will do nothing but listen to accrue what I hear into this song. To let sounds contribute toward it. I hear the sound I love. The sound of the human voice. I hear all sounds running together.
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Comerado, this is no book,Who touches this, touches a man,(Is it night? Are we here alone?)It is I you hold, and who holds you,I spring from the pages into your arms-decease calls me forth.
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The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.
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To the real artist in humanity, what are called bad manners are often the most picturesque and significant of all.
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If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.
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The great city is that which has the greatest man or woman: if it be a few ragged huts, it is still the greatest city in the whole world.
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Henceforth I ask not good fortune. I myself am good fortune.
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I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul.
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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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