Simplicity is the glory of expression.

Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.

Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.

I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's-self is,.

To have great poets, there must be great audiences.

O amazement of things-even the least particle!

For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!

All is procession; the universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion.

Women sit or move to and fro, some are old, some young. The young are beautiful -- but the old are more beautiful than the young.

City of orgies, walks and joys! City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make you illustrious,.

A writer can do nothing for men more necessary, satisfying, than just simply to reveal to them the infinite possibility of their own souls.

I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines. Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute. Listening to others, and considering well what they say. Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating. Gently but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.

I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. One world is aware, and by the far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness, I can wait.

Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?

To me the sea is a continual miracle; The fishes that swim -- the rocks -- the motion of the waves -- the ships, with men in them, what stranger miracles are there?

I swear to you, there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

I keep thinking about you every few minutes all day.

Of all mankind the great poet is the equable man. Not in him but off from him things are grotesque or eccentric or fail of their sanity.