Walt Whitman, Song Of Myself Quotes

And I or you pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth.

Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.

To drive free, to love free, to court destruction with taunts. One brief house of madness and joy!

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.

My words itch at your ears till you understand them

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.