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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.
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
Human
Toward
Humans
Listen
Nothing
Hear
Love
Sound
Voice
Song
Accrue
Running
Contribute
Together
Sounds
More quotes by Walt Whitman
Loafe with me on the grass—loose the stop from your throat Not words, not music or rhyme I want—not custom or lecture, not even the best Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
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Other lands have their vitality in a few, a class, but we have it in the bulk of our people.
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Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
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Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me.
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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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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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Oh, to be alive in such an age, when miracles are everywhere, and every inch of common air throbs a tremendous prophecy, of greater marvels yet to be.
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I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
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I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul.
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I accept reality and dare not question it.
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Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.
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I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
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I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from, The scent of these armpits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
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Do you see O my brothers and sisters? It is not chaos or death, it is form, union, plan, it is eternal life, it is happiness.
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I dream in my dreams all the dreams of the other dreamers. And I become the other dreamers.
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A perfect writer would make words sing, dance, kiss, do the male and female act, bear children, weep, bleed, rage, stab, steal, fire cannon, steer ships, sack cities, charge with cavalry or infantry, or do anything that man or woman or the natural powers can do.
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I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for.
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I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's-self is.
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I think it is lost.....but nothing is ever lost nor can be lost .
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O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena in perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his opponent.
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