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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.

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
Burn
Throw
Wrote
Literature
Away
Didn
Always
Like
Consolation

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Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
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There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.
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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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Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
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Nothing happens unless first we dream.
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Poetry is a section of river-fog and moving boat-lights, delivered between bridges and whistles, so one says, 'Oh!' and another, 'How?'
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Poetry is a slipknot tightened around a time-beat of one thought, two thoughts, and a last interweaving thought there is not yet a number for.
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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.
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Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.
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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
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Poetry is a fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing, with an illegible oath between.
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There are people who want to be everywhere at once, and they get nowhere
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Tongues wrangled dark at a man. He buttoned his overcoat and stood alone. In a snowstorm, red hollyberries, thoughts, he stood alone.
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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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Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.
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In democracy both a deep reverence and a sense of the comic are requisite.
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Poetry is the report of a nuance between two moments, when people say, 'Listen!' and 'Did you see it?' 'Did you hear it? What was it?'
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Money is power, freedom, a cushion, the root of all evil, the sum of blessings.
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To those who had ordered them to death, one of them said: “We die because the people are asleep and you will die because the people will awaken.”
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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
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