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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
Sweet
Clear
Soul

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not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred & fifty are dumb yet at Alamo.
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Whoever degrades another degrades me.
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The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.
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Thunder on! Stride on! Democracy. Strike with vengeful stroke!
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O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done, / The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won
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Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.
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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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Be curious, not judgmental.
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I love doctors and hate their medicine.
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Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
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The great city is that which has the greatest man or woman: if it be a few ragged huts, it is still the greatest city in the whole world.
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Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.
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O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish what good amid these, O me, O life?
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The eager and often inconsiderate appeals of reformers and revolutionists are indispensable to counterbalance the inertia and fossilism marking so large a part of human institutions.
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Where the earth is, we are.
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...of two simple men I saw today on the pier in the midst of the crowd, parting the parting of dear friends, the one to remain hung on the other's neck and passionately kissed him. While the one to depart tightly pressed the one to remain in his arms.
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All is procession the universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion.
Walt Whitman
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My little notebooks were beginnings - they were the ground into which I dropped the seed... I would work in this way when I was out in the crowds, then put the stuff together at home.
Walt Whitman
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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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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.
Walt Whitman