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Clear and sweet is my soul, clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

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
Soul
Sweet
Clear

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You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.
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O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done.
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All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.
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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.
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Are you the new person drawn toward me?
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I loafe and invite my soul.
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I am an acme of things accomplished, and I an encloser of things to be.
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I will You, in all, Myself, with promise to never desert you, To which I sign my name.
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Copulation is no more foul to me than death is.
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And I will show of male and female that either is but the equal of the other.
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The President eats dirt and excrement for his daily meals, likes it and tries to force it on The States.
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I and this mystery, here we stand.
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Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves, As souls only understand souls.
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I love doctors and hate their medicine.
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My rule has been, so far as I could have any rule (I could have no cast-iron rule) - my rule has been, to write what I have to say the best way I can - then lay it aside - taking it up again after some time and reading it afresh - the mind new to it. If there's no jar in the new reading, well and good - that's sufficient for me.
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O joy of suffering! To struggle against great odds! to meet enemies undaunted! To be entirely alone with them! to find how much one can stand! To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, death, face to face! To mount the scaffold! to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance! To be indeed a God!
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Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard.
Walt Whitman
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I see great things in baseball. It's our game - the American game. It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism. Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.
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O magnet-South! O glistening perfumed South! My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!
Walt Whitman
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I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, All all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward.
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