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A liar is a liar and lives on the lies he tells and dies in a life of lies.

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
Liars
Tells
Lies
Dies
Lying
Lives
Life
Liar
Deceit

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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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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.
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Time is the coin of your life. You spend it. Do not allow others to spend it for you.
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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 a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
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Man is a long time coming. Man will yet win. Brother may yet line up with brother: This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.There are men who can't be bought.
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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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I stayed away from mathematics not so much because I knew it would be hard work as because of the amount of time I knew it would take, hours spent in a field where I was not a natural.
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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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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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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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The greatest certainty in life is death. The greatest uncertainty is the time.
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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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Calling it off comes easy enough if you haven't told the girl you are smitten with her.
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Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
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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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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.
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I am! I have come through! I belong!
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Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment.
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