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I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
Walt Whitman
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Walt Whitman
Age: 72 †
Born: 1819
Born: May 31
Died: 1892
Died: March 26
Editor
Essayist
Journalist
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West Hills
New York
Walter Whitman
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More quotes by Walt Whitman
My call is the call of battle- I nourish active rebellion/ He going with me must go well armed.
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A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing lacking.
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In all people I see myself - none more, and not one a barleycorn less And the good or bad I say of myself, I say of them.
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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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I am not contain'd between my hat and boots.
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I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long.
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The work for giants...to serve well the guns!
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Give me such shows - give me the streets of Manhattan!
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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!
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Either define the moment or the moment will define you.
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I say that democracy can never prove itself beyond cavil, until it founds and luxuriantly grows its own forms of art, poems, schools, theology, displacing all that exists, or that has been produced anywhere in the past, under opposite influences.
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The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first Be not discouraged - keep on - there are divine things, well envelop'd I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.
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There is that indescribable freshness and unconsciousness about an illiterate person that humbles and mocks the power of the noblest expressive genius.
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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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The earth does not argue, Is not pathetic, has no arrangements, Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise, Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures, Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out.
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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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I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contained between my hat and my boots.
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O captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done. The ship has weather'd every wrack The prize we sought is won The port is near, the bells I hear The people all exulting While follow eyes, the steady keel The vessel grim and daring But Heart! Heart! Heart! O the bleeding drops of red Where on the deck my captain lies Fallen cold and dead.
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The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.
Walt Whitman
storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, I tread day and night such roads.
Walt Whitman