Battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last, In things best known to you, finding the best, or as good as the best, In folks nearest to you finding the sweetest, strongest, lovingest; Happiness, knowledge, not in another place, but this place-not for another hour, but this hour.

I am not contain'd between my hat and boots.

I exist as I am, that is enough.

I will write the evangel-poem of comrades and of love.

The process of reading is not a half sleep, but in the highest sense, an exercise, a gymnast's struggle: that the reader is to do something for him or herself, must be on the alert, just construct indeed the poem, argument, history, metaphysical essay--the text furnishing the hints, the clue, the start, the framework.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.