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For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!
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
Race
Races
Cannot
Depend
Sinewy
Must
March
Darlings
Bear
Tarry
Bears
Brunt
Danger
Youthful
Depends
Pioneers
Rest
Darling
More quotes by Walt Whitman
Love the earth and sun and animals, Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, Stand up for the stupid and crazy, Devote your income and labor to others... And your very flesh shall be a great poem.
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Keep your face always toward the sunshine everything could be worse but isn't and so we are justified in being grateful - and shadows everything could be better but isn't and so it is easy to be bitter 'unless you decide to look on the bright side will fall behind you.
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The real war will never get in the books.
Walt Whitman
I tramp a perpetual journey.
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I refuse putting from me the best that I am.
Walt Whitman
O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
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The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections.
Walt Whitman
The road to wisdom is paved with excess. The mark of a true writer is their ability to mystify the familiar and familiarize the strange.
Walt Whitman
Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.
Walt Whitman
I am large, I contain multitudes
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A great city is that which has the greatest men and women.
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The truest and greatest Poetry, (while subtly and necessarily always rhythmic, and distinguishable easily enough) can never again, in the English language, be express'd in arbitrary and rhyming metre, any more than the greatest eloquence, or the truest power and passion.
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I am not contain'd between my hat and boots.
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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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If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred.
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Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.
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I henceforth tread the world, chaste, temperate, an early riser, a steady grower.
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The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.
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A writer can do nothing for men more necessary, satisfying, than just simply to reveal to them the infinite possibility of their own souls.
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The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them
Walt Whitman