Quote

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.

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
Grass
Lulls
Stop
Lecture
Voice
Custom
Words
Lectures
Best
Rhyme
Music
Loose
Even
Customs
Like
Throat
Lull

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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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It is only the novice in political economy who thinks it is the duty of government to make its citizens happy - government has no such office.
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There is no God any more divine than Yourself.
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I am large, I contain multitudes
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Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last, In things best known to you, finding the best, or as good as the best, In folks nearest to you finding the sweetest, strongest, lovingest Happiness, knowledge, not in another place, but this place-not for another hour, but this hour.
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Most works are most beautiful without ornament.
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I Think it is lost.....but nothing is ever lost nor can be lost . The body sluggish, aged, cold, the ember left from earlier fires shall duly flame again.
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Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find.
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My call is the call of battle- I nourish active rebellion/ He going with me must go well armed.
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Re-examine all you have been told in school or church or in any book, and dismiss whatever insults your own soul and your very flesh shall be a great poem.
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Each of us inevitable Each of us limitless-each of us with his or her right upon the earth.
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A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
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All the things of the universe are perfect miracles, each as profound as any.
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A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.
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Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her that it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
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I think of few heroic actions, which cannot be traced to the artistical impulse. He who does great deeds, does them from his innate sensitiveness to moral beauty.
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I wear my hat as I please, indoors or out.
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I tramp a perpetual journey.
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To me the sea is a continual miracle The fishes that swim - the rocks - the motion of the waves - the ships, with men in them, what stranger miracles are there?
Walt Whitman
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Forsake all inhibitions, Pursue thy dreams.
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