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There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.

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
Dreams
Dies
Death
Dream
Women
Men
Holding
Stronger

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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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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Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?
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To never see a fool you lock yourself in your room and smash the looking-glass.
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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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A tree is best measured when it is down - and so it is with people.
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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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Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.
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The buffaloes are gone. And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
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Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
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There is a music for lonely hearts nearly always. If the music dies down there is a silence. Almost the same as the movement of music. To know silence perfectly is to know music.
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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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Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
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Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.
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The greatest cunning is to have none at all.
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Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
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The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
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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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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
Carl Sandburg
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Tongues wrangled dark at a man. He buttoned his overcoat and stood alone. In a snowstorm, red hollyberries, thoughts, he stood alone.
Carl Sandburg
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God, let me remember all good losers.
Carl Sandburg