Quote

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.

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
Garden
Remembers
Moon
October
Friend
Harvest
Comes
Nights
Death
September
Night
Soft
Drips
Beautiful
Gray
Shimmering
Remember
Silver
Whispers

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And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.
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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
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There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.
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We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born.
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There are some people who can receive a truth by no other way than to have their understanding shocked and insulted.
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Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.
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Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
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Poetry is the capture of a picture, a song, or a flair, in a deliberate prism of words.
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Money is power, freedom, a cushion, the root of all evil, the sum of blessings.
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Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
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To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damned hard.
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Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?
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The people will live on.The learning and blundering people will live on.
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The impact of television on our culture is just indescribable.
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Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
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I see America, not in the setting sun of a black night of despair ahead of us, I see America in the crimson light of a rising sun fresh from the burning, creative hand of God. I see great days ahead, great days possible to men and women of will and vision.
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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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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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