Author of quotes: Walt Whitman

Who, what miracles?
I know nothing but miracles.

And he who is without love, even a moment, for the funeral of their he drest in his shroud.

Camerado, this is not a book.
Who touches her, touches the person
(Now-night? we together and nobody around?),
That's me, and you hold in the arms me, and I embrace you
I jump from the pages right into your arms-the death calls me.
Oh, put me to sleep your fingers
Your breath is refreshing, like dew, your pulse calms the tympanums of my ears,
I feel that disappear from head to toe,
Oh, how fine, enough!
Rather, on a case built on the impromptu and secret,
Quite, shaky about now, rather about the past, with summarized result.
My friend, whoever you may be, take from me the kiss,
I give it only to you, don't forget me,
I feel like the person who decided to relax after a day of toil,
I choose now of the many transformations of one of the plurality of avatar
One climbing in lofty heights, other transformation, of course, is still ahead.
Unfamiliar world, more real than I thought, quite noticeable, he throws it at me awakening rays. Bye!
Mark my words, I can go back,
I love you, I break with the real world
I like separated into parts, triumphant, dead.

The time is drawing near and all the sullen gloom,
The horror that is unknown to me, macit me.
I still walk,
I still train to this country, but don't know where and for how long,
Maybe soon, in broad daylight or at night when I sing, my voice will suddenly cease.
Oh, the book! Oh, the songs! or this and all of our results?
Or do we just come to the beginning of itself? - but this is rather the soul;
Soul, we truly were in the world - and that is enough.

The trumpeter! I myself, right, the instrument on which you play the songs
You melt my heart and brain, they move attract and change.
Suddenly, your vague song inspired by sadness at me
You repaid caressing a beacon of hope.
I see slavery and oppression, tyranny and violence everywhere
Immense feel shame, for my people are humiliated and humbled myself,
My steel suffering the wrongs of all mankind, and thirst for vengeance, and concealed the hate
The defeat makes me ill it's over! The enemy triumphs.
(But the giant stands over the ruins of Truth, unshakable until the end!
Determination and the will to stand up to the end!)

I think all the light and air should be happy,
Let the one who is not yet in the coffin and not in the pit, he knows he has enough.

We few are living in different countries and in different ages,
We are hidden in all continents, all castes, all religions recognize, benefactors, sostradatel, harmonious part of the people
We pass silently through disputes and assertions, but reject not nor arguing, nor what they claim,
We hear screaming and swearing, we are in the midst of strife, envy and recriminations of each of the parties,
They are closing in around us, listening to our explanations, they surround us, my comrade,
And yet we go, wild, free, go throughout the earth, and we will go until we can leave our indelible mark in time and at different epochs,
Until you nourish the time and era that men and women are the future of countries and time began to feel as loved and loving as we are now.

So here I go! (Open doors of time! The doors of the infirmary opened!)
Broken head bandage (don't break up, distraught, dressing!),
Inspect the neck of the cavalry, pierced by a bullet;
Instead of breath - wheezing, eyes already glassy, but fighting life is hard.
(Come, welcome death! Hearken, o beautiful death! Please, come quickly.)
With the stump of amputated arm
I removed the lint, clean off the clots, wash out the pus and blood;
The soldier threw her head to the side on the pillow,
His face pale, eyes closed (he was afraid to look on the bloody stump,
He had not yet seen it).
Bandaging the deep wound in his side,
Another day, another - and the end, see how the body goes limp, weak,
And the face became bluish-yellow.
Bandage a broken shoulder, shot through the leg,
Clean rotten, creeping, gangrenous wound,
My assistant standing next to, holding the tray and pail.
But I don't get lost, don't give up,
The hip and knee is fractured, the wound in the peritoneum.
All the wounds I bandaged quietly (and in my breast burns the fire).

Quickly opened the envelope,
Oh, it is not written, but signed his name!
Someone else wrote to our son... Oh, poor mother!
Her eyes darkened, and read only fragments of phrases:
"Wounded by a bullet in the chest., cavalry skirmish... sent to the hospital...
Now it is bad but will be better soon".
Ah, now I see
Around the affluent of the Ohio, with its cities and farms
One mother, with deadly pale face,
Leaning against the door jamb.
"Do not cry, dear mother (adult daughter said, sobbing,
And teenage sister, huddle silently in fear),
After you read what Pete will soon be better."
Alas, poor boy, he gets better (he already does not need it, straight forward and bold),
He died at the time, as here they stand in front of the house -
Their only son died.
But the mother needs to become better:
She, emaciated, in a black dress,
A day without touching food, and crying at night waking up,
In darkness languishes without sleep with only one passionate desire
To leave discreetly and quietly out of life, to disappear and hide,
To be together with her beloved dead son.

The people who seized power, not revenge anyone and noble goals are not chopped:
He despised the cruelty of kings.
But out of his mercy has grown fierce death, and trembling monarchs come again,
With them their usual entourage: the tax collector, a priest, the executioner,
The jailer, a nobleman, a lawyer, soldier, and spy.
But behind all, look, some Ghost creeps
Vague as the night, the whole head wrapped in endless crimson cloth,
No eyes, no face;
Only finger curved like a snake's head,
From the crimson robes appeared and points somewhere.
And fresh graves lie bloodied young men,
And the gallows rope taut, and holding the bullets of princes, and the winning bastards laugh
But all this brings fruits, and these fruits are fertile.
Those corpses of young men,
These martyrs hanging in the loop, those hearts pierced by the gray lead,
They are cold and motionless, but they live somewhere, and they are impossible to kill.
They live on the kings, in others, such as young,
They are the surviving brothers live, and ready to rebel against you,
They were purified by death, wise, exalted her.
In each tomb fighter is the seed of freedom, from this seed will grow a new crop,
Far will spread his winds, it will suckle the rain and snow.
Whoever killed the tyrants, his soul does not disappear,
But the invisible hovers above the ground, whispers, warns, advises.
Freedom! do not let others believe in you but I believe in you to the end!

I will choose my own path,
Let others proclaim the laws, I don't care about laws,
Let others praise exalted people and support peace, I support only the excitement and the struggle,
I do not praise the sublime of man, I oppose him just standing.
(Who are you and what is the shameful secret of your life?
Do you whole life to avoid? grub and shoot the breeze all your life?
Who are you rolling in rote memorize dates and quotes, names and pages-
You, words can not say in simplicity?)
Let others trim their samples, I never trim your samples
I do them in the inexhaustible law, like Nature itself, always anew and anew.
I do not impute a duty,
What others are charged with the duty, I call the drives of life
(Am I going heart be obliged to beat?).
Let others get rid of issues, I can't get rid of anything, I put new unanswerable questions.
Who are these creatures that I see and feel, and what is their purpose?
What is the purpose of these like me, so attracting their participation or indifference?
I urge everyone not to trust what they say about my friends, but listen to my enemies, because so did I
I punish in perpetuity reject interpreting me, for I do not know how to interpret yourself
I punish not to build me neither theory nor schools,
I punish to grant freedom to everyone, as I have given everyone freedom.
For me, clearing years!
Oh, I see: life is not short, she is a great and immeasurable,
From now on I will walk the earth restrained and chaste, patient sower, rising at dawn,
Every hour is the seed of the ages and centuries.
I have hard to follow the lessons of air, water and earth,
I realize that time to waste I shouldn't.

Sacred body male and female body;
Whose more - the body is sacred;
And the body of a slave. And the body descended to the shore downtrodden immigrant.
Any here or there, as one who lives in abundance, just like you;
And everyone in the procession to the place of this.
(After all this procession
The universe is a procession with measured orderly movement.)
Il you do versed so that the slave name is Il downtrodden immigrant ignorant?
Il wrinkle that you have the right to sensibly judge, and he or she has not?
Or do you think that matter, from flowing to the distraction otvergla, and the soil is, water flows, greenery growing
Only for you and not for him and not for her?

Hair, Breasts, hips, curves, legs casually dangling hands it and my disappeared;
The tide generated by tide, the tide generated by tide - love in the flesh yearning, in the sweet pain;
Limitless, clear fountain of love hot, huge, trembling, frenzy, furious unrequited juice;
The wedding night of love moves safely and gently into the dawn open,
Paralepsis coveted submissive day
Lost in the arms of sweet flesh daily.
This embryo is from the female after the child is born, man is born;
This font birth - the merging of large and small, and again the source.
Be not ashamed, women - your advantage includes the other and the beginning of the other;
You gate body and you the gate to the soul.
In a woman of quality, she softens,
She is in his place and is heading in the balance full;
Everything in it is hidden as it should - it and active and quiet;
She is to conceive daughters, and she is to conceive sons.

I realized that to be with those I like,- contentment,
That evening and sit with other people - contentment,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, laughing, breathing flesh - contentment,
To be among others, to touch someone, to twist the arm slightly it Il her neck for a moment - or not enough?
I revel not necessary - I swim in it as in the sea.
There is something in the communication with people in the way they look, the touch, the smell of them that pleases the soul,-
Many are good for the soul, but it is particularly strong.