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God is a mean-spirited, pugnacious bully bent on revenge against His children for failing to live up to his impossible standards.

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
Bent
Revenge
Standards
Failing
Impossible
Live
Pugnacious
Children
Spirited
Mean
Bully

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Strong and content I travel the open road.
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Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged. Missing me one place, search another. I stop somewhere waiting for you.
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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.
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Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty, The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes, The gentle soft-born measureless light, The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill'd noon, The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars, Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.
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And your very flesh shall be a great poem.
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Liberty is to be subserved, whatever occurs.
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Day full-blown and splendid-day of the immense sun, action, ambition, laughter, The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and restoring darkness.
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As soon as histories are properly told there is no more need of romances.
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And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.
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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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But the people are ungrammatical, untidy, and their sins gaunt and ill-bred.
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Many a good man I have seen go under.
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Be not dishearten'd -- Affection shall solve the problems of Freedom yet Those who love each other shall become invincible.
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There is no God any more divine than Yourself.
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O captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done. The ship has weather'd every wrack The prize we sought is won The port is near, the bells I hear The people all exulting While follow eyes, the steady keel The vessel grim and daring But Heart! Heart! Heart! O the bleeding drops of red Where on the deck my captain lies Fallen cold and dead.
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O amazement of things-even the least particle!
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The sum of all known value and respect, I add up in you, whoever you are.
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I am the man, I suffered, I was there.
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Man is about the same, in the main, whether with despotism, or whether with freedom.
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