Nothing can happen more beautiful than death.
Nothing endures but personal qualities.
Now I see the secret of making the best person: it is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.
O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, you express me better than I can express myself.
Oh while I live, to be the ruler of life, not a slave, to meet life as a powerful conqueror, and nothing exterior to me will ever take command of me.
Other lands have their vitality in a few, a class, but we have it in the bulk of our people.
Re-examine all that you have been told... dismiss that which insults your soul.
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Freedom - to walk free and own no superior.
Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed.
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.
Have you learned the lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you? Have you not learned great lessons from those who braced themselves against you, and disputed passage with you?
Henceforth I ask not good fortune. I myself am good fortune.
Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.
I accept reality and dare not question it.
I am as bad as the worst, but, thank God, I am as good as the best.
I am for those who believe in loose delights, I share the midnight orgies of young men, I dance with the dancers and drink with the drinkers.
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.
I cannot be awake for nothing looks to me as it did before, Or else I am awake for the first time, and all before has been a mean sleep.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself.
I exist as I am, that is enough.
I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero.
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.
And your very flesh shall be a great poem.