Quote

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.

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
Night
Littles
Find
Little
Creepers
Come
Creeps
Heart
Ambition
Singing
Song

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Men of ideas vanish when freedom vanishes.
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In democracy both a deep reverence and a sense of the comic are requisite.
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The people will live on.The learning and blundering people will live on.
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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The people know what the land knows.
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I couldn't see myself filling some definite niche in what is called a career. This was all misty.
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Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.
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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
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An expert is a damn fool a long way from home.
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Never will a time come when the most marvelous recent invention is as marvelous as a newborn child.
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Come on, you Do you want to live forever?
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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.
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We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born.
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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
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I remember in my early 20s when I felt I couldn't live past 30. I was learning how to write. I had a lot of hard work ahead of me.
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By night the skyscraper looms in the smoke and the stars and has a soul.
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A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.
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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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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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Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
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