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What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?
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
Walks
Freedom
Satisfy
Free
Superior
Soul
Superiors
Suppose
Horse
Except
Walk
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The whole purpose of the universe is unerringly aimed at one thing - you.
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Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.
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Agonies are one of my changes of garments.
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You must not know too much or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft a certain free-margin , or even vagueness - ignorance, credulity - helps your enjoyment of these things.
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I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear.
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When one reaches out to help another he touches the face of God.
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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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The sum of all known value and respect, I add up in you, whoever you are.
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Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
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The real war will never get in the books.
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I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of a man.
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And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero.
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What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics, of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains?
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Ah little recks the laborer, How near his work is holding him to God, The loving Laborer through space and time
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The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation: The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer, I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky.
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Oh, to be alive in such an age, when miracles are everywhere, and every inch of common air throbs a tremendous prophecy, of greater marvels yet to be.
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I speak the password primeval I give the sign of democracy.
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The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case, He turns his quid of tobacco, while his eyes blur with the manuscript.
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Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch.
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That's beautiful: the hurrah game! well — it's our game: that's the chief fact in connection with it: America's game: has the snap, go fling, of the American atmosphere — belongs as much to our institutions, fits into them as significantly, as our constitutions, laws: is just as important in the sum total of our historic life.
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