Margo highlighted these passages in Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
You shall no longer take things at second of third hand...
nor look through the eyes of the dead...nor feed on
the spectres in books.
I tramp a perpetual journey
All goes onward and outward...and nothing collapses,
And if each and all be aware I sit content
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you
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