Walt Whitman Quotes

I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "Song of Myself," sct. 24, Leaves of Grass (1855).
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You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers, We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate hence-forward, Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us, We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently within us, We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also, You furnish your parts, toward eternity, Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Crossing Brooklyn Ferry (l. 127-133). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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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.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself, sct. 24, Leaves of Grass (1855).
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Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face! Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face to face. Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me! On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose, And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Crossing Brooklyn Ferry (l. 1-5). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. II, l. 33-37). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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What a devil art thou, Poverty! How many desires—how many aspirations after goodness and truth—how many noble thoughts, loving wishes toward our fellows, beautiful imaginings thou hast crushed under thy heel, without remorse or pause!
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. repr. in Walt Whitman of the New York Aurora, pt. 4 (1950). "Death Of McDonald Clarke," New York Aurora (March 8, 1842).
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I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. You villain touch! what are you doing? my breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me.
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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The last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finished Sabbath, On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking, Down a new-made double grave,
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Dirge for Two Veterans (l. 1-4). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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The great city is that which has the greatest man or woman: If it be a few ragged huts, it is still the greatest city in the whole world.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "Song of the Broad Axe," sct. 4.
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For the son is brought with the father, (On the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, Two veterans son and father dropt together, And the double grave awaits them).
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Dirge for Two Veterans (l. 17-20). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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