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Factory windows are always brokenOther windows are let alone.No one throws through the chapel-windowThe bitter, snarling, derisive stone.

Vachel Lindsay

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Vachel Lindsay
Age: 52 †
Born: 1879
Born: November 10
Died: 1931
Died: December 5
Painter
Poet
Writer
Springfield
Illinois
Nicholas Vachel Lindsay
Always
Factory
Windows
Factories
Stone
Bitter
Derisive
Stones
Snarling
Window
Chapel
Alone
Throws

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I think on death as the apparent end of the illusions that encompass us. They all have a sudden and unexpected end, that challenges any faith we have pinned to their worth.
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They tried to get me-I got them first! (suicide note)
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How can we help students to understand that the tragedy of life is not death the tragedy is to die with commitments undefined and convictions undeclared and service unfulfilled?
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You can't crush ideas by suppressing them. You can only crush them by ignoring them.
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Change the fabric of your own soul and your own visions, and you change all.
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Never be a cynic, even a gentle one. Never help out a sneer, even at the devil.
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This is the sin against the Holy Ghost: - To speak of bloody power as right divine, And call on God to guard each vile chief's house, And for such chiefs, turn men to wolves and swine.
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The crooning turns to a sunrise singing.
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My life is unjust, but I can strive for justice. My life is unkind, but I can vote for kindness.
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Let not young souls be smothered out Before they do quaint deeds And fully flaunt their pride.
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They tried to get me - I got them first! [Suicide.]
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God lead us past the setting of the sun To wizard islands, of august surprise God make our blunders wise.
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To live in mankind is far more than to live in a name.
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Oh, I have walked in Kansas Through many a harvest field, And piled the sheaves of glory there And down the wild rows reeled: Each sheaf a little yellow sun, A heap of hot-rayed gold Each binder like Creation's hand To mold suns, as of old.
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Except the Christ be born again tonight In dreams of all men, saints and sons of shame, The world will never see his kingdom bright.
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Authors and uncaptured criminals are the only people free from routine.
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The only thing that a man may do that is new, is to write himself on human hearts.
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Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you, Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you. Mumbo . . . Jumbo . . . will . . . hoo-doo . . . you.
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Life is a loom, weaving illusion.
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