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Long and long has the grass been growing, Long and long has the rain been falling, Long has the globe been rolling round.
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
Rounds
Falling
Grass
Rain
Growing
Globe
Fall
Globes
Long
Rolling
Life
Round
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Be not ashamed women, ... You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.
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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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The genius of the United States is not best or most in its executives or legislatures, nor in its ambassadors or authors or colleges, or churches, or parlors, nor even in its newspapers or inventors, but always most in the common people.
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I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
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Freedom - to walk free and own no superior.
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Thunder on! Stride on! Democracy. Strike with vengeful stroke!
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Unscrew the locks from the doors ! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs !
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Under the specious pretext of effecting 'the happiness of the whole community,' nearly all the wrongs and intrusions of government has been carried through.
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And I will show of male and female that either is but the equal of the other.
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Americans should know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.
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O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, you express me better than I can express myself.
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I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked.
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The best writing has no lace on its sleeves.
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I dance with the dancers.
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There is no place like it, no place with an atom of its glory, pride, and exultancy. It lays its hand upon a man's bowels he grows drunk with ecstasy he grows young and full of glory, he feels that he can never die.
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The question, O me! so sad, recurring - What good amid these, O me, O life? That you are here - that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
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Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gathered, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!
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The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.
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This is the city, and I am one of the citizens/Whatever interests the rest interests me
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