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William Stafford

Today The ordinary miracles begin. Somewhere a signal arrives: “Now,” and the rays come down. A tomorrow has come. Open your hands, lift them: morning rings all the doorbells; porches are cells for prayer. Religion has touched your throat. Not the same now, you could close your eyes and go on full of light. And… Continue reading William Stafford

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Walt Whitman

I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch’d from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles,… Continue reading Walt Whitman

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Robert Frost

The realist always falls in love with a girl he has grown up with, the romanticist with a girl from ‘off somewhere. — Robert Frost, The Letters of Robert Frost, Volume 1: 1886 – 1920. (Belknap Press: An Imprint of Harvard University Press; annotated edition edition February 27, 2014)

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Walt Whitman

It will illustrate one phase of humanity anyhow; how few of life’s days and hours (and they not by relative value or proportion, but by chance) are ever noted. Probably another point too, how we give long preparations for some object, planning and delving and fashioning, and then, when the actual hour for doing arrives,… Continue reading Walt Whitman

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Walt Whitman

I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate     into new tongue. — Walt Whitman, from Section 21 of “Song of… Continue reading Walt Whitman

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Jack Kerouac

What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks disappearing? – It’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies. — Jack Kerouac, On The Road. (Penguin Books December 28, 1976)… Continue reading Jack Kerouac

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