425 Quotes by Carl Sandburg

I've written some poetry I don't understand myself

Under the summer rosesWhen the flagrant crimsonLurks in the duskOf the wild red leaves,Love, with little hands, Comes and touches youWith a thousand memories,And asks youBeautiful, unanswerable questions.

Better the blue silence and the gray west, The autumn mist on the river, And not any hate and not any love, And not anything at all of the keen and the deep:Only the peace of a dog head on a barn floor, And the new corn shoveled in bushels And the pumpkins brought from the corn rows, Umber lights of the dark, Umber lanterns of the loam dark. Here a dog head dreams. Not any hate, not any love. Not anything but dreams. Brother of dusk and umber.

I'm either going to be a writer or a bum.

To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damn hard.

The moon is friend for the lonesome to talk to.

I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.

Out of the whirling womb of time come millions of men and their feet crowd the earth and they cut one another's throats for room to stand and among them all are not two thumbs alike.

Maybe the morning sun is a five-cent yellow balloon,And the evening stars the joke of a God gone crazy. Maybe the mothers of the world, And the life that pours from their torsal folds— Maybe it’s all a lie sworn by liars, And a God with a cackling laughter says:“I, the Almighty God, I have made all this, I have made it for kaisers, czars and kings.