From Peter Doyle, a train conductor who came across a New York poet named Walt Whitman one evening:
“He was the only passenger; it was a lonely night, so I thought I would go in and talk with him. Something in me made me do it and something in him drew me that way. He used to say there was something in me had the same effect on him. Anyway, I went into the car. We were familiar at once–I put my hand on his knee–we understood. He did not get out at the end of the trip–in fact went all the way back with me….From that time on we were the biggest sort of friends.”
And his habit of bold talk rubbed off on you, sir.