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For we know when a nation goes down and never comes back, when a society or a civilization perishes, one condition may always be found. They forgot where they came from. They lost sight of what brought them along.

Carl Sandburg

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Carl Sandburg
Age: 89 †
Born: 1878
Born: January 6
Died: 1967
Died: July 22
Biographer
Historian
Journalist
Musicologist
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Trade Unionist
Writer
Galesburg
Illinois
Carl August Sandburg
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Civilization
Lost
Along
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Nation
May
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Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?
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People lie because they don't remember clear what they saw. People lie because they can't help making a story better than it was the way it happened.
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Man is a long time coming. Man will yet win. Brother may yet line up with brother: This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.There are men who can't be bought.
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Poetry is the arithmetic of the easiest way and the primrose path, matched up with foam-flanked horses, bloody knuckles, and bones, on the hard ways to the stars.
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Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.
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There are people who want to be everywhere at once, and they get nowhere
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Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.
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An ambition is a little creeper that creeps and creeps in your heart night and day, singing a little song, Come and find me, come and find me.
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I am! I have come through! I belong!
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The scholars and poets of an earlier time can be read only with a dictionary to help.
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I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.
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There are some people who can receive a truth by no other way than to have their understanding shocked and insulted.
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If [America] forgets where she came from, if the people lose sight of what brought them along, if she listens to the deniers and mockers, then will begin the rot and dissolution.
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Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
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There was always the consolation that if I didn't like what I wrote I could throw it away or burn it.
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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
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I am the people the mob the crowd the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
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