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I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete, The earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and broken.

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
Religion
Swear
Spirit
Surely
Earth
Spirituality
Life
Complete
Garden
Remains
Broken
Jagged
Shall
Gardening

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Be curious, not judgmental.
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Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn'd love But now I think there is no unreturn'd love—the pay is certain, one way or another (I loved a certain person ardently, and my love was not return'd Yet out of that, I have written these songs.)
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When one reaches out to help another he touches the face of God.
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But the people are ungrammatical, untidy, and their sins gaunt and ill-bred.
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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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I dream in my dreams all the dreams of the other dreamers. And I become the other dreamers.
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Shut not your doors to me proud libraries.
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The shallow, as intimated, consider liberty a release from all law, from every constraint. The wise see in it, on the contrary, the potent Law of Laws.
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Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.
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The whole theory of the universe is directed unerringly to one single individual.
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The habit of giving only enhances the desire to give.
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Keep your face always toward the sunshine everything could be worse but isn't and so we are justified in being grateful - and shadows everything could be better but isn't and so it is easy to be bitter 'unless you decide to look on the bright side will fall behind you.
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Copulation is no more foul to me than death is.
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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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O the joy of my spirit - it is uncaged - it darts like lightning!
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And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
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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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I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved, saying to the people, Do not weep for me, This is not my true country, I have lived banished from my true country - I now go back there, I return to the celestial sphere where every one goes in his turn.
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Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.
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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.
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