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And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.

Carl Sandburg

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Carl Sandburg
Age: 89 †
Born: 1878
Born: January 6
Died: 1967
Died: July 22
Biographer
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Galesburg
Illinois
Carl August Sandburg
Poetry
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There is an eagle in me that wants to soar.
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A politician should have three hats. One for throwing into the ring, one for talking through, and one for pulling rabbits out of if elected.
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Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable.
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Such a Big miracle in such a tiny baby. Big things often have small beginnings A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.
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Yesterday is done. Tomorrow never comes. Today is here. If you don't know what to do, sit still and listen. You may hear something. Nobody knows.
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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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You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.
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And those who say, I'll try anything once, often try nothing twice, three times, arriving late at the gate of dreams worth dying for.
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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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The scholars and poets of an earlier time can be read only with a dictionary to help.
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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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Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
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Now is the time. It is never too late to start something.
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Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.
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Poetry is a mock of a cry at finding a million dollars and a mock of a laugh at losing it.
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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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I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
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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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Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
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