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Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
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
Made
Phantoms
Rainbow
Script
Scripts
Telling
Poet
Poetry
Rainbows
Away
Phantom
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
We live in the time of the colossal upright oblong.
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Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.
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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
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God, let me remember all good losers.
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A liar is a liar and lives on the lies he tells and dies in a life of lies.
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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.
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
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Lips half-willing in a doorway. Lips half-singing at a window. Eyes half-dreaming in the walls. Feet half-dancing in a kitchen. Even the clocks half-yawn the hours And the farmers make half-answers.
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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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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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The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time
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Never will a time come when the most marvelous recent invention is as marvelous as a newborn child.
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Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
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And even now she beats her head against the bars in the same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe there is romance and big things and real dreams that never go smash.
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The peace of great books be for you, Stains of pressed clover leaves on pages, Bleach of the light of years held in leather.
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Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
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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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The people will live on.The learning and blundering people will live on.
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The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.
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The impact of television on our culture is just indescribable.
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