Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, I tread day and night such roads.
I loafe and invite my soul.
There's no doubt that I've deserved my enemies, but I don't think I've deserved my friends.
The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.
There is no God any more divine than Yourself.
Loafe with me on the grass—loose the stop from your throat; Not words, not music or rhyme I want—not custom or lecture, not even the best; Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
Are you the new person drawn toward me? To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose.
Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.
I am the man, I suffered, I was there.
All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.
Clear and sweet is my soul, clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
And I will show of male and female that either is but the equal of the other.
The art of art, the glory of expression, is simplicity. Nothing is better than simplicity, and the sunlight of letters is simplicity. Nothing is better than simplicity-nothing can make up for excess, or for the lack of definiteness.
If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred.
A perfect writer would make words sing, dance, kiss, do the male and female act, bear children, weep, bleed, rage, stab, steal, fire cannon, steer ships, sack cities, charge with cavalry or infantry, or do anything that man or woman or the natural powers can do.
You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe much unseen is also here
Freedom - to walk free and own no superior.
From this hour, freedom! Going where I like, my own master.
I see the President almost every day. I see very plainly Abraham Lincoln's dark brown face with its deep-cut lines, the eyes always to me with a deep latent sadness in the expression. None of the artists or pictures has caught the deep, though subtle and indirect expression of this man's face. There is something else there. One of the great portrait painters of two or three centuries ago is needed.
The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.
The poet judges not as a judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing.
To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.
The great city is that which has the greatest man or woman: if it be a few ragged huts, it is still the greatest city in the whole world.
The Past -- the dark unfathomed retrospect! The teeming gulf --the sleepers and the shadows! The past! the infinite greatness of the past! For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?
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