Quotes from Walt Whitman

A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect, Terrible in beauty, age, and power, The genius of poets of old lands, As to me directing like flame its eyes, With finger pointing to many immortal songs, And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said

And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)

I contain multitudes

seems to me that everything in the light and air ought to be happy; Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.

Vagyok, ahogy vagyok, elég ennyi, Ha senki más nem vesz észre a világon, békén ülök, És ha mindenki észrevesz, akkor is békén ülök.

There is, in sanest hours, a consciousness, a thought that rises, independent, lifted out from all else, calm, like the stars, shining eternal

I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, / But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet untouch'd, untold, altogether unreached... / ...I have not really understood any thing, not a single object, and...no man ever can.

He or she is greatest who contributes the greatest original practical example.

Az egyenlÅ'ségrÅ'l – mintha bizony káromra volna, ha másnak is megadják ugyanazokat a lehetÅ'ségeket és jogokat, mint nekem, mintha nem volna saját jogaim nélkülözhetetlen része, hogy másnak is ugyanolyan jogai legyenek.

Az engedelmességrÅ'l, h?ségrÅ'l, ragaszkodásról; Amint így távol állok, s elnézem, van számomra valami mélységesen megható az óriási embertömegekben, amelyek azok irányítását követik, akik nem hisznek az emberiségben.

I used to thrust papers, things, into my pockets: always had a lot of reading matter about my person somewhere: on ferries, cars, anywhere, I would read, read, read: it's a good habit to get into: have you ever noticed how most people absolutely waste most all their spare time?

Zbunjuje to i užasava, kako bi me brzo ubio izlazak sunca, Kada ne bih mogao, sada i uvek, da izazovem izlazak sunca iz sebe.

Sounds of the Winter Walt Whitman - 1819-1892 Sounds of the winter too, Sunshine upon the mountains—many a distant strain From cheery railroad train—from nearer field, barn, house The whispering air—even the mute crops, garner'd apples, corn, Children's and women's tones—rhythm of many a farmer and of flail, And old man's garrulous lips among the rest, Think not we give out yet, Forth from these snowy hairs we keep up yet the lilt.

I resist anything better than my own diversity, And breathe the air and leave plenty after me

AS THE TIME DRAWS NIGH As the time draws nigh, glooming, a cloud, A dread beyond, of I know not what, darkens me. I shall go forth, I shall traverse The States awhile—but I cannot tell whither or how long; Perhaps soon, some day or night while I am singing, my voice will suddenly cease. O book, O chants! must all then amount to but this? Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us?… And yet it is enough, O soul! O soul! we have positively appear'd—that is enough.

Were you thinking that those were the words, those upright lines? those curves, angles, dots? No, those are not the words, the substantial words are in the ground and sea, They are in the air, they are in you.

O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

These are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing or next to nothing, If they do not enclose everything they are next to nothing

Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms.

Stop this day and night with me, and you shall possess the origin of all poems

I have not felt to warble and trill, however sweetly, I have felt to soar in freedom and in the fullness of power, joy, volition.

Micsoda érzés: ma vagy bármelyik napon azt érezni, hogy úgy, ahogy vagyok, kielégítÅ' vagyok!