Quote

I think I will do nothing for a long time but listen, And accrue what I hear into myself...and let sound contribute toward me.

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
Time
Accrue
Think
Contribute
Thinking
Toward
Listen
Hear
Sound
Nothing
Long

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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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Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road.
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The fruition of beauty is no chance of hit or miss... it is inevitable as life.
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O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
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Thunder on! Stride on! Democracy. Strike with vengeful stroke!
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Most works are most beautiful without ornament.
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Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.
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Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost.
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Be curious, not judgmental.
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All truths wait in all things,/They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it
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The best writing has no lace on its sleeves.
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I am an acme of things accomplished, and I an encloser of things to be.
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I do not doubt but the majest and beauty of the world are latent in any iota of the world I do not doubt there is far more in trivialities, insects, vulgar persons, slaves, dwarfs, weeds, rejected refuse than I have supposed.
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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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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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A Song of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets A song of farms - a song of the soil of fields. A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk'd maize.
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Out of every fruition of success, no matter what, comes forth something to make a new effort necessary.
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I dreamed in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth I dreamed that was the new City of Friends Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love—it led the rest It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city, And in all their looks and words.
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I speak the password primeval I give the sign of democracy.
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