Quickie Review: Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

I think he’s wonderful. Reading this is almost like reading a religious text for me. The racist language of the time is a bit disconcerting. His love of all people is apparent. I want someone to read Song of Myself to me on my deathbed. Yes, I know that’s a little morbid – but I can’t think of a better way to go out except maybe to also be propped up in front of a forest waterfall and a nice warm fire. Did I say I was morbid yet?

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About All My Guts and Soul

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