Quote

Poetry is the capture of a picture, a song, or a flair, in a deliberate prism of words.

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
Prisms
Flair
Deliberate
Capture
Picture
Poetry
Words
Song
Prism

More quotes by 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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Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the women don't get you then the whiskey must.
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A tree is best measured when it is down - and so it is with people.
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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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The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.
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The greatest cunning is to have none at all.
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The machine yes the machine never wastes anybody's time never watches the foreman never talks back.
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Poetry is the report of a nuance between two moments, when people say, 'Listen!' and 'Did you see it?' 'Did you hear it? What was it?'
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is the arithmetic of the easiest way and the primrose path, matched up with foam-flanked horses, bloody knuckles, and bones, on the hard ways to the stars.
Carl Sandburg
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All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.
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.
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I have always felt that a woman has the right to treat the subject of her age with ambiguity until, perhaps, she passes into the realm of over ninety. Then it is better she be candid with herself and with the world.
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I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.
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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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The peace of great books be for you, Stains of pressed clover leaves on pages, Bleach of the light of years held in leather.
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Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.
Carl Sandburg
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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
Carl Sandburg
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There is no song to your singing.
Carl Sandburg
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Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?
Carl Sandburg
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A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.
Carl Sandburg