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If I added to their pride of America, I am happy.

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
Added
Pride
Happy
America

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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I've written some poetry I don't understand myself.
Carl Sandburg
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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?'
Carl Sandburg
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Life goes before we know what it is. / One fool is enough in any house. / Even God gets tired of too much hallelujah. / Take it easy and live long as brothers.
Carl Sandburg
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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.
Carl Sandburg
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When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
Carl Sandburg
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Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
Carl Sandburg
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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.
Carl Sandburg
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For we know when a nation goes down and never comes back, when a society or a civilization perishes, one condition may always be found. They forgot where they came from. They lost sight of what brought them along.
Carl Sandburg
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We live in the time of the colossal upright oblong.
Carl Sandburg
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Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.
Carl Sandburg
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Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
Carl Sandburg
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Lips half-willing in a doorway. Lips half-singing at a window. Eyes half-dreaming in the walls. Feet half-dancing in a kitchen. Even the clocks half-yawn the hours And the farmers make half-answers.
Carl Sandburg
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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.
Carl Sandburg
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
Carl Sandburg
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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.
Carl Sandburg
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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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Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.
Carl Sandburg