--- DICTIONARIES (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

--- QUOTES [2 / 2 - 38 / 38] (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

KEYS (10k)

   1 Walt Whitman
   1 Jason Bowman

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   6 Edward Norton

   4 Walt Whitman

   4 Walt Whitman
   4 John Green

1:ONE hour to madness and joy! / O furious! O confine me not! (What is this that frees me so in storms? / What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?) ... ~ Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass One Hour to Madness and Joy,

2:Recommended ReadingDavid Foster Wallace - Infinite JestDH Lawrence - The RainbowGabriel Garcia Marquez - Love in the Time of CholeraKarl Ove Knausgaard - My StruggleVirginia Woolf - To The LighthouseBen Lerner - The Topeka SchoolSally Rooney - Conversations With FriendsNell Zink - The WallcreeperElena Ferrante - The Days of AbandonmentJack Kerouac - Dharma BumsWalt Whitman - Leaves of GrassMichael Murphy - Golf in the KingdomBarbara Kingsolver - Prodigal SummerAlbertine Sarrazin - AstragalRebecca Solnit - The Faraway NearbyMichael Paterniti - Love and Other Ways of DyingRainer Maria Rilke - Book of HoursJames Baldwin - Another CountryRoberto Calasso - KaTranslation by S. Radhakrishan - Principle UpanisadsChogyam Trungpa - Cutting Through Spiritual MaterialismTranslation by Georg Feuerstein - Yoga SutraRichard Freeman - The Mirror of YogaTranslation by S. Radhakrishan - The Bhagavad GitaShrunyu Suzuki - Zen Mind Beginner's MindHeinrich Zimmer - Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and CivilizationSogyal Rinpoche - The Tibetan Book of Living and DyingJoseph Campbell - Myths of LightJoseph Campbell - The Hero With A Thousand FacesSri Aurobindo - SavitriThomas Meyers - Anatomy TrainsWendy Doniger - The Hindus ~ Jason Bowman, http://www.jasonbowmanyoga.com/recommended-reading ,

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Sun so generous it shall be you- Leaves of Grass ~ Walt Whitman

2:He must be some escaped lunatic. Said an early Boston review of Leaves of Grass. ~ David Markson

3:Let me sing to you now, about how people turn into other things from "Leaves of Grass ~ Walt Whitman

4:A gust of wind set the leaves of grass to dancing and celebrated the grass's song before it died. ~ Haruki Murakami

5:Suspension of disbelief and that whole question is part of the heart of the 'Leaves of Grass'movie. ~ Edward Norton

6:I tried to film 'Leaves of Grass' in Oklahoma, but it was literally about a million dollars less to shoot in Louisiana. ~ Tim Blake Nelson

7:I would think if you were going to quote Whitman you'd go for something not taken from Leaves Of Grass. Especially if you're going to pull the fancy cultured bitch card. ~ Leah Clifford

8:[Leaves of Grass is] monstrous because it pretends to persuade the soul while it slights the intellect; because it pretends to gratify the feelings while it outrages the taste. ~ Henry James

9:I have never really thought of him as a person, either.... A guy whose strings were broken, who didn’t feel the root of his leaves of grass connected to the field, a guy who was cracked. Like me. ~ John Green

10:ONE hour to madness and joy! / O furious! O confine me not!    (What is this that frees me so in storms? / What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?) ...    ~ Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, One Hour to Madness and Joy,

11:I had a huge advantage with Edward Norton because he's directed a movie before, so one thing he appreciates is how hard my job is, he's very sensitive to that. We actually ended up finishing "Leaves of Grass" a day early. ~ Edward Norton

12:One world is aware, and by 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. WALT WHITMAN, Leaves of Grass ~ Jon Kabat Zinn

13:Artist Allen Crawford brings Whitman's undying text to new life in gorgeous hand-lettering and illustrations, transforming the 60-page poem originally published in 1855 as the centerpiece of Leaves of Grass into a breathtaking 256-page piece of art. ~ Maria Popova

14:We can hear others, and we can travel to them without moving, and we can imagine them, and we are all connected one to the other by a crazy root system like so many leaves of grass—but the game makes me wonder whether we can really ever fully become another. ~ John Green

15:We can hear others, and we can travel with them without moving, and we can imagine them, and we are all connected one to the other by a crazy root system, like so many leaves of grass. But the game makes me wonder wheter we can really ever fully become another. ~ John Green

16:Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" is still in print. They're debating right now over Mark Twain. He's still available. Winslow Homer can still be seen. Our arts are - they're there. We got to go get them and understand that this is an important legacy for our country. ~ Wynton Marsalis

17:I look for the moment(s) in the story where the writer risked abandoning the glory of the self in favor of the possible relationship with an other. I don't ever let the market tell me what a memoir is. The first best memoir I ever read was Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. ~ Lidia Yuknavitch

18:Walt Whitman is just an American bamboo. But LEAVES OF GRASS is immensely beautiful. Something overflowing from God has been caught by this poet. No American as far as I know, except Walt Whitman, may have touched it – that too, partially; otherwise no American has been so wise. ~ Anonymous

19:Whitman, for example, self-published (and typeset!) Leaves of Grass. Self-publishing could change from stigma to bragging point—maybe we could change the term to “artisanal publishing” and foster the image of authors lovingly crafting their books with total control over the process. ~ Guy Kawasaki

20:What we set out to do with this movie [Leaves of Grass] was to create something that was funny and serious and had large tonal ambitions. A movie that could be poignant and funny, and suddenly quite violent. To have a character utterly sideswiped, and to learn that life is about balance. ~ Edward Norton

21:When we read certain portions of “Leaves of Grass” we seem to see a vast phalanx of Great Companions passing for ever along the cosmic roads, stalwart Pioneers of the Universe. There are superb young men, athletic girls, splendid and savage old men—for the weak seem to have perished by the roadside. ~ H Havelock Ellis

22:Even my wife and two of my children are in "Leaves of Grass". Because I love the source material so much, it was really easy to write and an utter delight to get to direct because I had people like Edward [Norton] elevating the material and surprising me in their interpretations of all of this stuff that's so close to me. ~ Edward Norton

23:Remarkably, there's no green screen in 'Leaves of Grass' movie. There is motion control. Technically, there were all sorts of challenges, but really the soul of it is Edward Norton talent. You write these characters when you write a movie, and all you can hope for or depend on is that your actors will elevate the material. ~ Edward Norton

24:And I can’t help but feel that Whitman, for all his blustering beauty, might have been just a bit too optimistic. We can hear others, and we can travel to them without moving, and we can imagine them, and we are all connected one to the other by a crazy root system like so many leaves of grass — but the game makes me wonder whether we can really ever fully become one another. ~ John Green

25:I've never acted before in a movie I've directed. This felt like the time to do it just because the " Leaves of Grass" movie itself is so much of a platform for the lead actor. It's really written for an exciting performance and it really depends on the audience watching an extraordinary actor having a great time pulling off this feat. It makes sense to me as a director to act in support of that. ~ Edward Norton

26:The English tourist in American literature wants above all things something different from what he has at home. For this reason the one American writer whom the English whole-heartedly admire is Walt Whitman. There, you will hear them say, is the real American undisguised. In the whole of English literature there is no figure which resembles his - among all our poetry none in the least comparable to Leaves of Grass ~ Virginia Woolf

27:When I was young I once found a book in a Dutch translation, 'The leaves of Grass'. It was the first time a book touched me by its feeling of freedom and open spaces, the way the poet spoke of the ocean by describing a drop of water in his hand. Walt Whitman was offering the world an open hand (now we call it democracy) and my 'Monument for Walt Whitman' became this open hand with mirrors, so you can see inside yourself. ~ Karel Appel

28:This outlook, one that said that American history must be the history of nature speaking through men, not of men shaping nature, became the single most powerful force in American intellectual life in the nineteenth century and shaped some of America's greatest works of literature, such as Moby Dick, Leaves of Grass and Walden, as well as generating an American school of philosophy , to be furthered by William James and John Dewey. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

29:Back Yard Shine on, O moon of summer. Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak, All silver under your rain to-night. An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an accordion. A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next month; to-night they are throwing you kisses. An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits in a cherry tree in his back yard. The clocks say I must go—I stay here sitting on the back porch drinking white thoughts you rain down. Shine on, O moon, Shake out more and more silver changes. ~ Carl Sandburg

30:O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; Of the endless trains of the faithlessof cities fill'd with the foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the lightof the objects meanof the struggle ever renew'd; Of the poor results of allof the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me; Of the empty and useless years of the restwith the rest me intertwined; The question, O me! so sad, recurringWhat good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are herethat life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse. [2332.jpg] -- from Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman ~ Walt Whitman, O Me! O life!

31:By sacralizing both nature and human flesh, Whitman set the poetic template for what some consider a homegrown Tantra, the stream of Vedic spirituality that sees the divine in the mundane and directs sensory experience toward spiritual realization. “He taught people a way of beholding nature which is itself a form of prayer,” said the author and poet Diane Ackerman. She called Leaves of Grass “a sacred American text about the essential goodness and perfectibility of people, the sanctity of the common man, the holiness of the human body viewed naked and up close, the privilege of democracy, the need to forge one’s own destiny, and the duty of all to discover the world anew, by living in a state of rampant amazement at the endless pocket-size miracles one encounters every day.”16 That is as good a description of an American Tantra as can be imagined. Transcendental ~ Philip Goldberg

32:our land: The Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening and Double Yoga. Northland Wildflowers and Quilts to Wear. Songs for the Dulcimer and Bread Baking Basics. Using Plants for Healing and I Always Look Up the Word Egregious. I took the books she’d read to me, chapter by chapter, before I could read to myself: the unabridged Bambi and Black Beauty and Little House in the Big Woods. I took the books that she’d acquired as a college student in the years right before she died: Paula Gunn Allen’s The Sacred Hoop and Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior and Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa’s This Bridge Called My Back. Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick and Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn and Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. But I did not take the books by James Michener, the ones my mother loved the most. “Thank you,” I said now to Jeff, holding The Novel. “I’ll trade this for ~ Cheryl Strayed

33:O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise upfor you the flag is flungfor you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreathsfor you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. [2332.jpg] -- from Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman ~ Walt Whitman, O Captain! my Captain!

34:He is a type of our best — our rarest. Electrical, I was going to say, beyond anyone, perhaps, ever was: charged, surcharged. Not a founder of new philosophies — not of that build. But a towering magnetic presence, filling the air about with light, warmth, inspiration. A great intellect, penetrating, in ways (on his field) the best of our time — to be long kept, cherished, passed on... It should not be surprising that I am drawn to Ingersoll, for he is 'Leaves of Grass.' He lives, embodies, the individuality I preach. 'Leaves of Grass' utters individuality, the most extreme, uncompromising. I see in Bob the noblest specimen —American-flavored—pure out of the soil, spreading, giving, demanding light. {Whitman's thought on his good friend, the great Robert Ingersoll} ~ Walt Whitman

35:Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,  Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,  Out of the Ninth-month midnight,  Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d alone, bare-headed, barefoot,  Down from the shower’d halo,  Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they were alive,  Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,  From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,  From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,  From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears,  From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist,  From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,  From the myriad thence-arous’d words,  From the word stronger and more delicious than any,  From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,  As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,  Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,  A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,  Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves.  I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,  Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping beyond them,  A reminiscence sing. ~ Walt Whitman, Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking, from Leaves of Grass, 1860 edition.

36:Recommended Reading David Foster Wallace - Infinite Jest DH Lawrence - The Rainbow Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Love in the Time of Cholera Karl Ove Knausgaard - My Struggle Virginia Woolf - To The Lighthouse Ben Lerner - The Topeka School Sally Rooney - Conversations With Friends Nell Zink - The Wallcreeper Elena Ferrante - The Days of Abandonment Jack Kerouac - Dharma Bums Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass Michael Murphy - Golf in the Kingdom Barbara Kingsolver - Prodigal Summer Albertine Sarrazin - Astragal Rebecca Solnit - The Faraway Nearby Michael Paterniti - Love and Other Ways of Dying Rainer Maria Rilke - Book of Hours James Baldwin - Another Country Roberto Calasso - Ka Translation by S. Radhakrishan - Principle Upanisads Chogyam Trungpa - Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism Translation by Georg Feuerstein - Yoga Sutra Richard Freeman - The Mirror of Yoga Translation by S. Radhakrishan - The Bhagavad Gita Shrunyu Suzuki - Zen Mind Beginner's Mind Heinrich Zimmer - Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization Sogyal Rinpoche - The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying Joseph Campbell - Myths of Light Joseph Campbell - The Hero With A Thousand Faces Sri Aurobindo - Savitri Thomas Meyers - Anatomy Trains Wendy Doniger - The Hindus ~ Jason Bowman, http://www.jasonbowmanyoga.com/recommended-reading,

37:An Apple From Walt Whitman There's never been a poet where I live, but I grew up in the shade of Whitman's name: born in West Hills—our hills—he would have walked our paths along the crest. I walked Whitman Road, crashed the Whitman Drive-In, stole a book from the sci-fi rack at the Melville-Whitman Pharmacy, even played lacrosse against Whitman High; we lost three times, the guys from Halfway Hollow, to young men with Whitman in white on their varsity jackets. My mother tells a story about Thanksgiving, back when kids went begging in rags and blackface: how Carrie Wicks's sister said she got an apple from Walt Whitman, right at his house, an old man with a beard. The big kids laughed, knowing the white-haired caretaker was no one. I set no foot inside the Whitman House or Leaves of Grass till after I went away, but I'm better having grown up with the name, the house and hills of a poet everyone knew, a poet big enough in the mothers' stories for a girl to believe he came to the door with a long white beard and smiled and handed her an apple. If a poet the size of Whitman named our few square miles and a few in Jersey it's going to take a lot more big ones to hand us all a welcome sweet as a Thanksgiving apple from Walt Whitman, white-haired care-taker, seed of mothers' stories, Appleseed of our poetry: nourishment, shade. ~ Eric Torgersen

38:Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900. To You WHOEVER you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands; Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you, Your true Soul and Body appear before me, They stand forth out of affairs—out of commerce, shops, law, science, work, forms, clothes, the house, medicine, print, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying. Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you. O I have been dilatory and dumb; I should have made my way straight to you long ago; I should have blabb’d nothing but you, I should have chanted nothing but you. I will leave all, and come and make the hymns of you; None have understood you, but I understand you; None have done justice to you—you have not done justice to yourself; None but have found you imperfect—I only find no imperfection in you; None but would subordinate you—I only am he who will never consent to subordinate you; I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better, God, beyond what waits intrinsically in yourself. Painters have painted their swarming groups, and the centre figure of all; From the head of the centre figure spreading a nimbus of gold-color’d light; But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nimbus of gold-color’d light; From my hand, from the brain of every man and woman it streams, effulgently flowing forever. O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you! You have not known what you are—you have slumber’d upon yourself all your life; Your eye-lids have been the same as closed most of the time; What you have done returns already in mockeries; (Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in mockeries, what is their return?) The mockeries are not you; Underneath them, and within them, I see you lurk; I pursue you where none else has pursued you; Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the accustom’d routine, if these conceal you from others, or from yourself, they do not conceal you from me; The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion, if these balk others, they do not balk me, The pert apparel, the deform’d attitude, drunkenness, greed, premature death, all these I part aside. There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied in you; There is no virtue, no beauty, in man or woman, but as good is in you; No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you; No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits for you. As for me, I give nothing to any one, except I give the like carefully to you; I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of you. Whoever you are! claim your own at any hazard! These shows of the east and west are tame, compared to you; These immense meadows—these interminable rivers—you are immense and interminable as they; These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of apparent dissolution—you are he or she who is master or mistress over them, Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, elements, pain, passion, dissolution. The hopples fall from your ankles—you find an unfailing sufficiency; Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest, whatever you are promulges itself; Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided, nothing is scanted; Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you are picks its way. ~ Walt Whitman

--- IN CHAPTERS (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

5

   4 Poetry


   4 Walt Whitman


   2 Whitman - Poems

1.whitman_-_I_Hear_America_Singing, #Whitman - Poems, #Walt Whitman, #Poetry   The original version of the poem was number 20 in the section   Chants Democratic in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.

1.whitman_-_So_Far_And_So_Far,_And_On_Toward_The_End, #Whitman - Poems, #Walt Whitman, #Poetry   And you, contemporary America.   Whitman, Walt. 1900. Leaves of Grass.

1.ww_-_O_Captain!_my_Captain!, #unset, #Nirodbaran, #Integral Yoga       Original Language English O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise upfor you the flag is flungfor you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreathsfor you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. [2332.jpg] -- from Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman <

1.ww_-_O_Me!_O_life!, #unset, #Nirodbaran, #Integral Yoga       Original Language English O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; Of the endless trains of the faithlessof cities fill'd with the foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the lightof the objects meanof the struggle ever renew'd; Of the poor results of allof the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me; Of the empty and useless years of the restwith the rest me intertwined; The question, O me! so sad, recurringWhat good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are herethat life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse. [2332.jpg] -- from Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman <

Valery_as_Symbol, #Labyrinths, #Jorge Luis Borges, #Poetry   singular virtue of not identifying Whitman, the man of letters and devote of   Tennyson, with Whitman, the semidivine hero of Leaves of Grass. The   distinction is valid; Whitman wrote his rhapsodies in terms of an imaginary