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People lie because they don't remember clear what they saw. People lie because they can't help making a story better than it was the way it happened.
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
People
Story
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Making
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Remember
Happened
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Lying
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
I could safely declare, I am an idealist... I believe in everything - I am only looking for proofs.
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If I added to their pride of America, I am happy.
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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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Love your neighbor as yourself but don't take down your fence.
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Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.
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Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.
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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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Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
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I had taken a course in Ethics. I read a thick textbook, heard the class discussions and came out of it saying I hadn't learned a thing I didn't know before about morals and what is right or wrong in human conduct.
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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
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Poetry is the harnessing of the paradox of earth cradling life and then entombing it.
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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
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I have in later years taken to Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, in an elemental way.
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The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.
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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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Calling it off comes easy enough if you haven't told the girl you are smitten with her.
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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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An ambition is a little creeper that creeps and creeps in your heart night and day, singing a little song, Come and find me, come and find me.
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The fog comes on little cat feet.
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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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