Walt Whitman Quotes

Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes).
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself, sct. 51, Leaves of Grass (1855).
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A glimpse through an interstice caught, Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a barroom around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremarked seated in a corner, Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand, A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest, There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. A Glimpse (l. 1-6). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself, sct. 50, Leaves of Grass (1855).
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O lands! O all so dear to me—what you are (whatever it is), I become part of that, whatever it is.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. American Feuillage.
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I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. XXIV, l. 522-526). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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Our leading men are not of much account and never have been, but the average of the people is immense, beyond all history. Sometimes I think in all departments, literature and art included, that will be the way our superiority will exhibit itself. We will not have great individuals or great leaders, but a great average bulk, unprecedentedly great.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "An Interviewer's Item," Specimen Days and Collect (1882).
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I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained,
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. XXVIII, l. 637-641). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself, Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them. And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them, Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O, my soul.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. A Noiseless Patient Spider (l. 1). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "Song of Myself," sct. 48, Leaves of Grass (1855).
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A noiseless patient spider,
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. A Noiseless Patient Spider (l. 1). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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