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Comerado, this is no book,Who touches this, touches a man,(Is it night? Are we here alone?)It is I you hold, and who holds you,I spring from the pages into your arms-decease calls me forth.
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
Pages
Spring
Arms
Hold
Decease
Alone
Touches
Night
Holds
Book
Calls
Men
Forth
More quotes by Walt Whitman
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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I like the scientific spirit-the holding off, the being sure but not too sure, the willingness to surrender ideas when the evidence is against them: this is ultimately fine-it always keeps the way beyond open.
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Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.
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Henceforth I ask not good fortune. I myself am good fortune.
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But the people are ungrammatical, untidy, and their sins gaunt and ill-bred.
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All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.
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I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else.
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What beauty there is in words what a lurking curious charm in the sound some words.
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To drive free, to love free, to court destruction with taunts, to feed the remainder of life with one hour of fullness and freedom - one brief hour of madness and joy.
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Freedom - to walk free and own no superior.
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Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.
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Now I see the secret of making the best person: it is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.
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O to be self-balanced for contingencies, to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.
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Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
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Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me.
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O the joy of my spirit - it is uncaged - it darts like lightning!
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I am as bad as the worst, but, thank God, I am as good as the best.
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What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
Walt Whitman
O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
Walt Whitman
Re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul and your very flesh shall be a great poem, and have the richest fluency, not only in its words, but in the silent lines of its lips and face, and between the lashes of your eyes, and in every motion and joint of your body.
Walt Whitman