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By night the skyscraper looms in the smoke and the stars and has a soul.

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
Skyscraper
Smoke
Stars
Night
Soul
Looms

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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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The people know what the land knows.
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a women is like a tea bag.it's only when she is in hot water that you realize how strong she is.
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I have often wondered what it is an old building can do to you when you happen to know a little about things that went on long ago in that building.
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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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Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?
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There is only one man in the world and his name is All Men. There is only one woman in the world and her name is All Women. There is only one child in the world and the child's name is All Children.
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Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.
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I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
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Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
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A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.
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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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Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.
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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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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
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The scholars and poets of an earlier time can be read only with a dictionary to help.
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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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A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.
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A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.
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The fog comes on little cat feet.
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