A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky, Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.... [T]he wood-spirits came from their haunts of a thousand years, to join the refrain; But in my soul I plainly heard. Murmuring out of its myriad leaves, Down from its lofty top, rising two hundred feet high, Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs - out of its foot-thick bark, That chant of the seasons and time - chant, not of the past only, but of the future.
Walt WhitmanA woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were lacking.
Walt WhitmanIn the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word.
Walt WhitmanI think I will do nothing for a long time but listen, And accrue what I hear into myself...and let sound contribute toward me.
Walt WhitmanThe 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 Whitman