Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.

Old age: The estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours into the Great Sea.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

We were together. I forget the rest.

What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?

And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and can be none in the future, And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turned to beautiful results.

When one reaches out to help another he touches the face of God.