Strange, (is it not?) that battles, martyrs, blood, even assassination should so condense - perhaps only really lastingly condense - a Nationality.
Walt WhitmanThat the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again and ever again, this soiled world.
Walt WhitmanMy ties and ballasts leave me - I travel - I sail - My elbows rest in the sea-gaps. I skirt the sierras. My palms cover continents - I am afoot with my vision.
Walt Whitman