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
Little
Creepers
Come
Creeps
Heart
Ambition
Singing
Song
Night
Littles
Find

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I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.
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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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The people will live on.The learning and blundering people will live on.
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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 greatest certainty in life is death. The greatest uncertainty is the time.
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You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.
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I have in later years taken to Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, in an elemental way.
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All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.
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A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.
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There was always the consolation that if I didn't like what I wrote I could throw it away or burn it.
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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 see America, not in the setting sun of a black night of despair ahead of us, I see America in the crimson light of a rising sun fresh from the burning, creative hand of God. I see great days ahead, great days possible to men and women of will and vision.
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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
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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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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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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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Man is a long time coming. Man will yet win. Brother may yet line up with brother: This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.There are men who can't be bought.
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There is an eagle in me that wants to soar.
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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.
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The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
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