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typeracer

Pit Stop
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I celebrate myself, and sing myself, and what I assume you shall assume, for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, hoping to cease not till death.
Leaves of Grass (book) by Walt Whitman
Language: English
Submitted by: volhosis
This text has been typed more than 1000 times:
Avg. speed: 82 WPM
Avg. accuracy: 96.8%

Top 10 scores for this text

User Speed Accuracy Points Place Date Options
1 add4line 209 WPM 99.0% 299 1/3 April 13, 2022
2 joshua728 198 WPM 99.0% 283 1/3 March 8, 2021
3 arc_sec 192 WPM 99.0% 276 1/1 March 19, 2021
4 slekap 192 WPM 98.0% 275 1/2 May 11, 2021
5 quitless 192 WPM 98.0% 275 1/3 Aug. 23, 2021
6 shazman 191 WPM 99.0% 274 1/3 Aug. 28, 2020
7 flaneur 183 WPM 99.0% 262 1/5 March 13, 2022
8 heavenseer 181 WPM 98.0% 259 1/2 Nov. 12, 2021
9 izanagiii 178 WPM 100.0% 256 1/3 June 9, 2020
10 munkeontop 177 WPM 100.0% 253 1/4 April 13, 2022