Quote

I been a wanderin' Early and late, New York City To the Golden Gate An' it looks like I'm never gonna cease my Wanderin'.

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
City
Late
Gate
Cities
Gates
Looks
Cease
Never
Golden
Like
Gonna
York
Early

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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
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There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.
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Faith is indispensable, and the world at times does not seem to have quite enough of it. It can and has accomplished what seems to be the impossible. Wars have been started and men and nations lost for the lack of it. Faith starts from the individual and builds men and nations. America was built by and on the faith of our ancestors.
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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.
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The greatest cunning is to have none at all.
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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.
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I am! I have come through! I belong!
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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 any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
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Often I look back and see that I had been many kinds of a fool-and that I had been happy in being this or that kind of fool.
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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
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Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head.
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I have in later years taken to Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, in an elemental way.
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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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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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
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Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
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To those who had ordered them to death, one of them said: “We die because the people are asleep and you will die because the people will awaken.”
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Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.
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