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The machine yes the machine never wastes anybody's time never watches the foreman never talks back.

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
Machines
Waste
Anybody
Watches
Technology
Foreman
Back
Wastes
Never
Talks
Time
Machine

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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
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Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.
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Time is a great teacher, Who can live without hope?
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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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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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Poetry is the capture of a picture, a song, or a flair, in a deliberate prism of words.
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Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
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The simple dignity of a child drinking a bowl of milk embodies the fascination of an ancient rite.
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God, let me remember all good losers.
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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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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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The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat. It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.
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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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A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.
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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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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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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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Newspapers tell beforehand what is going to happen - maybe.
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