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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.
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
Hours
Brief
Freedom
Feed
Free
Madness
Love
Drive
Life
Hour
Taunts
Destruction
Remainder
Court
Taunting
Joy
Fullness
More quotes by Walt Whitman
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
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Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.
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As soon as histories are properly told there is no more need of romances.
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You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side...The Bending forward and backward of the rowers...
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I announce the great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste, affectionate, compassionate, fully armed I announce a life that shall be copious, vehement, spiritual, bold, And I announce an end that shall lightly and joyfully meet its translation.
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Old age: The estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours into the Great Sea.
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Of all mankind the great poet is the equable man. Not in him but off from him things are grotesque or eccentric or fail of their sanity.
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What is commonest and cheapest and nearest and easiest is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my goodwill, Scattering if freely forever.
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The beautiful uncut hair of graves.
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The moon gives you light, and the bugles and the drums give you music, and my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, my heart gives you love.
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Long and long has the grass been growing, Long and long has the rain been falling, Long has the globe been rolling round.
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The gift is to the giver, and comes back most to him - it cannot fail
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So here I sit in the early candle-light of old age-I and my book-casting backward glances over out travel'd road.
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Camerado! This is no book who touches this touches a man.
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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.
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I henceforth tread the world, chaste, temperate, an early riser, a steady grower.
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The truth is simple. If it was complicated, everyone would understand it.
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Where the earth is, we are.
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Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems
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In the faces of men and women, I see God.
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