Quote

I Think it is lost.....but nothing is ever lost nor can be lost . The body sluggish, aged, cold, the ember left from earlier fires shall duly flame again.

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
Body
Flame
Ever
Earlier
Nothing
Flames
Ember
Think
Cold
Duly
Thinking
Shall
Embers
Fire
Sluggish
Lost
Aged
Left
Fires

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I tramp a perpetual journey.
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I know nothing grander, better exercise, better digestion, more positive proof of the past, the triumphant result of faith in human kind, than a well-contested American national election.
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Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems
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God is a mean-spirited, pugnacious bully bent on revenge against His children for failing to live up to his impossible standards.
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I was in the midst of it all - saw war where war is worst - not on the battlefields, no - in the hospitals ... there I mixed with it: and now I say God damn the wars - allw ars: God damn every war: God damn 'em! God damn 'em!
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I refuse putting from me the best that I am.
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Now understand me well. It is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.
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We arrange our lives-even the best and boldest men and women that exist, just as much as the most limited-with reference to what society conventionally rules and makes right.
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Now, dearest comrade, lift me to your face, We must separate awhileHere! take from my lips this kiss. Whoever you are, I give it especially to you So long!And I hope we shall meet again.
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To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle. Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.
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O amazement of things-even the least particle!
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Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.
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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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My call is the call of battle- I nourish active rebellion/ He going with me must go well armed.
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The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it.
Walt Whitman
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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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Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.
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I have learned that to be with those I like is enough.
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Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
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And your very flesh shall be a great poem.
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