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Long have you timidly waded Holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, Rise again, nod to me, shout, And laughingly dash with your hair.
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
Long
Bold
Jump
Laughingly
Shore
Waded
Holding
Timidly
Midst
Plank
Rise
Dash
Sea
Swimmer
Hair
Shout
More quotes by Walt Whitman
And your very flesh shall be a great poem.
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I am for those who believe in loose delights, I share the midnight orgies of young men, I dance with the dancers and drink with the drinkers.
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When one reaches out to help another he touches the face of God.
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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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I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.
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O lands! O all so dear to me - what you are, I become part of that, whatever it is.
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This face is a dog's snout sniffing for garbage, snakes nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat.
Walt Whitman
I am too not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
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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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An individual is as superb as a nation when he has the qualities which make a superb nation.
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So here I sit in the early candle-light of old age-I and my book-casting backward glances over out travel'd road.
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To speak in literature with the perfect rectitude and insouciance of the movements of animals and the unimpeachable of the sentiment of trees in the woods and grass by the roadside is the flawless triumph of art.
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Old age: The estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours into the Great Sea.
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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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When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd / And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, / I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
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Viewed freely, the English language is the accretion and growth of every dialect, race, and range of time, and is both the free and compacted composition of all.
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Copulation is no more foul to me than death is.
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Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
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I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear.
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Now, dearest comrade, lift me to your face, We must separate awhileHere! take from my lips this kiss. Whoever you are, I give it especially to you So long!And I hope we shall meet again.
Walt Whitman