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Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment.
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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Poetry
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More quotes by Carl Sandburg
I am! I have come through! I belong!
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
Carl Sandburg
The people know what the land knows.
Carl Sandburg
Faith is indispensable, and the world at times does not seem to have quite enough of it. It can and has accomplished what seems to be the impossible. Wars have been started and men and nations lost for the lack of it. Faith starts from the individual and builds men and nations. America was built by and on the faith of our ancestors.
Carl Sandburg
What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
Carl Sandburg
Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?
Carl Sandburg
A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.
Carl Sandburg
I stayed away from mathematics not so much because I knew it would be hard work as because of the amount of time I knew it would take, hours spent in a field where I was not a natural.
Carl Sandburg
Love your neighbor as yourself but don't take down your fence.
Carl Sandburg
Now is the time. It is never too late to start something.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable.
Carl Sandburg
The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat. It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.
Carl Sandburg
I could safely declare, I am an idealist... I believe in everything - I am only looking for proofs.
Carl Sandburg
I have always felt that a woman has the right to treat the subject of her age with ambiguity until, perhaps, she passes into the realm of over ninety. Then it is better she be candid with herself and with the world.
Carl Sandburg
We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born.
Carl Sandburg
Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.
Carl Sandburg
Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a mock of a cry at finding a million dollars and a mock of a laugh at losing it.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
Carl Sandburg
