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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
Away
Phantom
Made
Phantoms
Rainbow
Script
Scripts
Telling
Poet
Poetry
Rainbows

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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There is no song to your singing.
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The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
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Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers.
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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
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Somebody's little girl- how easy it is to make a sob story over who she once was and who she now is.
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The fog comes on little cat feet.
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The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time
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Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
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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.
Carl Sandburg
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When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
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A politician should have three hats. One for throwing into the ring, one for talking through, and one for pulling rabbits out of if elected.
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You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.
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And those who say, I'll try anything once, often try nothing twice, three times, arriving late at the gate of dreams worth dying for.
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Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the women don't get you then the whiskey must.
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What else have I done nearly all my life than go hungry and go on singing?
Carl Sandburg
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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.
Carl Sandburg
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The greatest cunning is to have none at all.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.
Carl Sandburg