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To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.

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
Break
Behold
Light
Tastes
Littles
Fades
Little
Shadows
Good
Immense
Shadow
Air
Taste
Palate

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I was in the midst of it all - saw war where war is worst - not on the battlefields, no - in the hospitals ... there I mixed with it: and now I say God damn the wars - allw ars: God damn every war: God damn 'em! God damn 'em!
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O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish what good amid these, O me, O life?
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I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least.
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The road to wisdom is paved with excess. The mark of a true writer is their ability to mystify the familiar and familiarize the strange.
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The Past -- the dark unfathomed retrospect! The teeming gulf --the sleepers and the shadows! The past! the infinite greatness of the past! For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?
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Judging from the main portions of the history of the world, so far, justice is always in jeopardy.
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I see great things in baseball. It's our game - the American game. It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism. Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.
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If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred.
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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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The ecstasy is so short but the forgetting is so long.
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When one reaches out to help another he touches the face of God.
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Most works are most beautiful without ornament.
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I say the whole earth and all the stars in the sky are for religion's sake.
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Praised be the fathomless universe, for life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious.
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The strongest and sweetest songs yet remain to be sung.
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O Earth, that hast no voice, confide to me a voice! O harvest of my lands! O boundless summer growths! O lavish, brown, parturient earth! O infinite, teeming womb! A verse to seek, to see, to narrate thee.
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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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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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