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I know I am deathless We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
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
Summer
Trillions
Summers
Deathless
Reincarnation
Exhausted
Ahead
Winter
Thus
Winters
More quotes by Walt Whitman
The eager and often inconsiderate appeals of reformers and revolutionists are indispensable to counterbalance the inertia and fossilism marking so large a part of human institutions.
Walt Whitman
These are the days that must happen to you.
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In the faces of men and women, I see God.
Walt Whitman
I am an acme of things accomplished, and I an encloser of things to be.
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This hour I tell things in confidence/ I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
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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
Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep for the dead I loved so well.
Walt Whitman
The poet judges not as a judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing.
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I keep thinking about you every few minutes all day.
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Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch.
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This face is a dog's snout sniffing for garbage, snakes nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat.
Walt Whitman
The truth is simple. If it was complicated, everyone would understand it.
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Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.
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Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.
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He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
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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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Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are, Buds to be unfolded on the old terms If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring form, color, perfume, to you If you become the aliment and the wet, they will become flowers, fruits, tall blanches and trees.
Walt Whitman
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contained between my hat and my boots.
Walt Whitman
All the past we leave behind We debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world, Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, Pioneers! O Pioneers!
Walt Whitman
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd by God's name.
Walt Whitman