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I am too not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

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
Tamed
Barbaric
Roof
Bits
Sound
World
Untranslatable
Roofs

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An electric chain seems to vibrate, as it were, between our brain and him or her preserved there [in a Daguerreotype] so well by the limner's cunning. Time, space, both are annihilated, and we identify the semblance with the reality.
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Great is Youth--equally great is Old Age--great are Day and Night. Great is Wealth--great is Poverty--great is Expression-great is Silence.
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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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I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.
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When one reaches out to help another he touches the face of God.
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The purpose of democracy - supplanting old belief in the necessary absoluteness of establish'd dynastic rulership, temporal, ecclesiastical, and scholastic, as furnishing the only security against chaos, crime, and ignorance - is, through many transmigrations, and amid endless ridicules, arguments, and ostensible failures
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Man is about the same, in the main, whether with despotism, or whether with freedom.
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A man can be a hero in any profession
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The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.
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Re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul and your very flesh shall be a great poem, and have the richest fluency, not only in its words, but in the silent lines of its lips and face, and between the lashes of your eyes, and in every motion and joint of your body.
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What has miserable, inefficient Mexico...to do with the great mission of peopling the New World with a noble race?
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Over all the sky - the sky! Far, far out of reach, studded with eternal stars.
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All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch).
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Are you the new person drawn toward me?
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Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
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A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
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Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
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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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Oh while I live, to be the ruler of life, not a slave, to meet life as a powerful conqueror, and nothing exterior to me will ever take command of me.
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Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.
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