There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he looked upon, that object he became... — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
God is a mean-spirited, pugnacious bully bent on revenge against His children for failing to live up to his impossible standards. — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleas’d with the sound of my own name? repeating it over and over; I… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
A perfect writer would make words sing, dance, kiss, do the male and female act, bear children, weep, bleed, rage, stab, steal,… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
There was a child went forth everyday, And the first object he looked upon and received with wonder or pity or dread,… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
The mother condemned for a witch and burnt with dry wood, and her children gazing on; The hounded slave that flags in… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, And the white skeletons of young men-I saw them; I saw the debris and debris of… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“Among the men and women, the multitude, I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, Acknowledging none else—not parent,… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barleycorn less, And the good or bad I say of… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—projecting me; O solitary me, listening—nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you; Never more shall I escape,… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“Song of myself A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
O lands! O all so dear to me - what you are, I become part of that, whatever it is. — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“Each of us inevitable, Each of us limitless—each of us with his or her right upon the earth, Each of us allow'd the eternal… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
Comerado, this is no book,Who touches this, touches a man,(Is it night? Are we here alone?)It is I you hold, and who holds you,I… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
I have sometimes thought that the laws ought not to punish those actions of evil which are committed when the senses are steeped in… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
Oh while I live, to be the ruler of life, not a slave, to meet life as a powerful conqueror, and nothing exterior to… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
Wisdom is not finally tested in the schools, Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not having it, Wisdom is of… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
Strange, (is it not?) that battles, martyrs, blood, even assassination should so condense - perhaps only really lastingly condense - a Nationality. — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
I think I could always live with animals. The more you're around people, the more you love animals. — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
“I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the… — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
So here I sit in the early candle-light of old age-I and my book-casting backward glances over out travel'd road. — Walt Whitman Copy Share Image
