Quote

O the joy of my spirit--it is uncaged--it darts like lightning! It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time, I will have thousands of globes and all time.

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
Enough
Darts
Time
Globe
Like
Globes
Lightning
Thousands
Joy
Spirit
Certain

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I am large, I contain multitudes
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All the past we leave behind We debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world, Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, Pioneers! O Pioneers!
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And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.
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Praised be the fathomless universe, for life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious.
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For all these new and evolutionary facts, meanings, purposes, new poetic messages, new forms and expressions, are inevitable.
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What a devil art thou, Poverty! How many desires - how many aspirations after goodness and truth - how many noble thoughts, loving wishes toward our fellows, beautiful imaginings thou hast crushed under thy heel, without remorse or pause!
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Nothing can happen more beautiful than death.
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I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
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The process of reading is not a half sleep, but in the highest sense, an exercise, a gymnast's struggle: that the reader is to do something for him or herself, must be on the alert, just construct indeed the poem, argument, history, metaphysical essay--the text furnishing the hints, the clue, the start, the framework.
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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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All is procession the universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion.
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The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation: The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer, I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky.
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What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
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Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.
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Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.
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Dismiss whatever insults your soul.
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O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
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