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Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
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
Musical
Eyes
Forever
Faces
Turbulent
Eye
Chorus
Manhattan
Crowds
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There is that indescribable freshness and unconsciousness about an illiterate person that humbles and mocks the power of the noblest expressive genius.
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Clear and sweet is my soul, clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
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Oh while I live, to be the ruler of life, not a slave, to meet life as a powerful conqueror, and nothing exterior to me will ever take command of me.
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There is no God any more divine than Yourself.
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O magnet-South! O glistening perfumed South! My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!
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I swear to you, there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell
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Thunder on! Stride on! Democracy. Strike with vengeful stroke!
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The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.
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I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained, I stand and look at them long and long.
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Over all the sky - the sky! Far, far out of reach, studded with eternal stars.
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Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.
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Are you the new person drawn toward me?
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Joy, shipmate, joy! (Pleased to my soul at death I cry), Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last, she leaps! She swiftly courses from the shore, Joy, shipmate, joy!
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Loafe with me on the grass—loose the stop from your throat Not words, not music or rhyme I want—not custom or lecture, not even the best Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
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Battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
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I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete, The earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and broken.
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Under the specious pretext of effecting 'the happiness of the whole community,' nearly all the wrongs and intrusions of government has been carried through.
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A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
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Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her that it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
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Many a good man I have seen go under.
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