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Human bodies are words, myriads of words, (In the best poems re-appears the body, man's or woman's, well-shaped, natural, gay, Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.)
Walt Whitman
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Walt Whitman
Age: 72 †
Born: 1819
Born: May 31
Died: 1892
Died: March 26
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West Hills
New York
Walter Whitman
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More quotes by Walt Whitman
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean
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I know I am deathlessÂ…We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
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From this hour, freedom! Going where I like, my own master.
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Simplicity is the glory of expression.
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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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I give you my hand, I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law Will you give me yourself?
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You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe much unseen is also here
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All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.
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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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I am not contain'd between my hat and boots.
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I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
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storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, I tread day and night such roads.
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I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
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In the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word.
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Without enough wilderness America will change. Democracy, with its myriad personalities and increasing sophistication, must be fibred and vitalized by regular contact with outdoor growths - animals, trees, sun warmth and free skies - or it will dwindle and pale.
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This is the city, and I am one of the citizens/Whatever interests the rest interests me
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Everybody is writing, writing, writing - worst of all, writing poetry. It'd be better if the whole tribe of the scribblers - every damned one of us - were sent off somewhere with tool chests to do some honest work.
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A simple separate person is not contained between his hat and his boots.
Walt Whitman
For all these new and evolutionary facts, meanings, purposes, new poetic messages, new forms and expressions, are inevitable.
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Manhattan streets with their powerful throbs, with beating drums as now, The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even the sight of the wounded,) Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
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