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Calling it off comes easy enough if you haven't told the girl you are smitten with her.

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
Easy
Comes
Smitten
Enough
Calling
Havens
Haven
Told
Literature
Girl

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Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
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I am! I have come through! I belong!
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The simple dignity of a child drinking a bowl of milk embodies the fascination of an ancient rite.
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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
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Come on, you Do you want to live forever?
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Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits.
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Often I look back and see that I had been many kinds of a fool-and that I had been happy in being this or that kind of fool.
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Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
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The machine yes the machine never wastes anybody's time never watches the foreman never talks back.
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
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Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
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Hog butcher for the world, Tool maker, stacker of wheat, Player with railroads and the nation's freight handler Stormy, husky, brawling, City of big shoulders.
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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 the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.
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Men of ideas vanish when freedom vanishes.
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It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness to sit on a rock in the forest and to ask of himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?'...If one is not careful, one allows diversions to take up one's time-the stuff of life
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Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
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To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damned hard.
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Love your neighbor as yourself but don't take down your fence.
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