The city sleeps and the country sleeps, the living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, the old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife; and these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, and such as it is to be of these more or less I am, and of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

I heard what was said of the universe, heard it and heard it of several thousand years; it is middling well as far as it goes - but is that all?

Great is the faith of the flush of knowledge and of the investigation of the depths of qualities and things.

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections.

Now I see the secret of making the best person: it is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.

Love the earth and sun and animals, Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, Stand up for the stupid and crazy, Devote your income and labor to others... And your very flesh shall be a great poem.