Carl Sandburg Quotes

"…Намерението е едно такова нещо, което те гризе отвътре и ти нашепва тихо "...ела и ме намери, ела и ме намери...

Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.

The worn tired stars say
you shall die early and die dirty.
The clean cold stars say
you shall die late and die clean.

The runaway stars say
you shall never die at all,
never at all.

I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.

Ако нямаш как, краката са не по-лоши от крилата.

Man is born with rainbows in his heart and you'll never read him unless you consider rainbows.

SONG OF THE MAN WHO WAS TO BE HUNG The thunders will take me home, whenever I mind to go home, my friends, and the wind it will take me home, too.

"The books awed her by size, thickness, the staggering mass of lines and words to read before she could read all of them. Then having read all of the books must she carry in her head all that knowledge from the books? This too staggered her.
"Wouldn't my head feel queer?" she asked Elder Brewster. "Wouldn't my head feel heavy carrying so much knowledge? Could any of it spill out if there was too much?

Wishes left on your lips
The mark of their wings.
Regrets fly kites in your eyes.

I cannot tell you now;
When the wind's drive and whirl
Blow me along no longer,
And the wind's a whisper at last -
Maybe I'll tell you then
some other time.

"I HAVE ransacked the encyclopedias
And slid my fingers among topics and titles
Looking for you.

And the answer comes slow.
There seems to be no answer.
Old-fashioned Requited Love"

I shall ask the next banana peddler the who and the why of it.

Or — the iceman with his iron tongs gripping a clear cube in summer sunlight — maybe he will know.

Look out how you use proud words.
When you let proud words go, it is not easy to call them back.
They wear long boots, hard boots; they walk off proud; they can’t hear you calling -
Look out how you use proud words.

Life is an onion - you peel it year by year and sometimes cry.

Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits.

Here is the difference between Dante, Milton, and me. They wrote about hell and never saw the place. I wrote about Chicago after looking the town over for years and years.