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A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.

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
Lying
Rags
Dishonesty
Liar
Liars
Clothes
Fine
Goes

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I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.
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Freedom is baffling: men having it often know not they have it till it is gone and they no longer have it.
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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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Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds.
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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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Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.
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In democracy both a deep reverence and a sense of the comic are requisite.
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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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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
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There is an eagle in me that wants to soar.
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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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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 greatest cunning is to have none at all.
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Time is a great teacher, Who can live without hope?
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Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
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I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
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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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By night the skyscraper looms in the smoke and the stars and has a soul.
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Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.
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Love your neighbor as yourself but don't take down your fence.
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