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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.

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
Alphabet
Poetry
Type
Design
Fun
Hate
Death
Font
Love
Fonts

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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Here is the difference between Dante, Milton, and me. They wrote about hell and never saw the place. I wrote about Chicago after looking the town over for years and years.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
Carl Sandburg
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
Carl Sandburg
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And even now she beats her head against the bars in the same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe there is romance and big things and real dreams that never go smash.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing, with an illegible oath between.
Carl Sandburg
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Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
Carl Sandburg
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So I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them: Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Carl Sandburg
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If [America] forgets where she came from, if the people lose sight of what brought them along, if she listens to the deniers and mockers, then will begin the rot and dissolution.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a projection across silence of cadences arranged to break that silence with definite intentions of echoes, syllables, wave lengths.
Carl Sandburg
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Men of ideas vanish when freedom vanishes.
Carl Sandburg
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a women is like a tea bag.it's only when she is in hot water that you realize how strong she is.
Carl Sandburg
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I am! I have come through! I belong!
Carl Sandburg
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Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.
Carl Sandburg
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Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
Carl Sandburg
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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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I am the people the mob the crowd the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
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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Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
Carl Sandburg
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The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a mock of a cry at finding a million dollars and a mock of a laugh at losing it.
Carl Sandburg