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Hog butcher for the world, Tool maker, stacker of wheat, Player with railroads and the nation's freight handler Stormy, husky, brawling, City of big shoulders.

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
Tools
Stormy
Brawling
City
Railroads
Husky
Nation
Wheat
Handler
Player
Maker
Huskies
Cities
Makers
Freight
Nations
Tool
Hog
Bigs
Chicago
Butcher
World
Shoulders
Butchers

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits.
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Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
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Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
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To those who had ordered them to death, one of them said: “We die because the people are asleep and you will die because the people will awaken.”
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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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Love your neighbor as yourself but don't take down your fence.
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Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
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Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
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Poetry is statement of a series of equations, with numbers and symbols changing like the changes of mirrors, pools, skies, the only never-changing sign being the sign of infinity.
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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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Poetry is the capture of a picture, a song, or a flair, in a deliberate prism of words.
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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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The people will live on.The learning and blundering people will live on.
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We live in the time of the colossal upright oblong.
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I've written some poetry I don't understand myself.
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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If I added to their pride of America, I am happy.
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I wrote poems in my corner of the Brooks Street station. I sent them to two editors who rejected them right off. I read those letters of rejection years later and I agreed with those editors.
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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.
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.
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