Quote

Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky - or the answer is wrong and you have to start over and try again and see how it comes out this time.

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
Wrong
Math
Comes
Sky
Look
Window
Everything
Blue
Looks
Answer
Right
Answers
Trying
Nice
Time
Start
Arithmetic

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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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Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.
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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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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
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By night the skyscraper looms in the smoke and the stars and has a soul.
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I been a wanderin' Early and late, New York City To the Golden Gate An' it looks like I'm never gonna cease my Wanderin'.
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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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I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.
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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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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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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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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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I've written some poetry I don't understand myself.
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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
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I am the people the mob the crowd the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
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Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.
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Yesterday is done. Tomorrow never comes. Today is here. If you don't know what to do, sit still and listen. You may hear something. Nobody knows.
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Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.
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We live in the time of the colossal upright oblong.
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So I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them: Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
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