The secret of it all, is to write in the gush, the throb, the flood, of the moment โ to put things down without deliberation โ without worrying about their style โ without waiting for a fit time or place. I always worked that way. I took the first scrap of paper, the first doorstep, the first desk, and wrote โ wrote, wroteโฆBy writing at the instant the very heartbeat of life is caught.
Walt WhitmanHere the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems
Walt WhitmanWhen lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd / And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, / I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Walt Whitman