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All We Need To Begin With Is A #‎ Dream That We Can Do Better Than Before. All We Need To Have Is Faith, And That Dream Will Come True. All We Need To Do Is Act, And The Time For Action Is Now.

-Carl Sandburg

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All We Need To

Carl Sandburg

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All We Need To Begin With Is A #‎ Dream That We Can Do Better Than Before. All We Need To Have Is Faith, And That Dream Will Come True. All We Need To Do Is Act, And The Time For Action Is Now.

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Revolt And Terror Pay A Price. Order And Law Have A Cost.

The Simple Dignity Of A Child Drinking A Bowl Of Milk Embodies The Fascination Of An Ancient Rite.

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.

Newspapers Tell Beforehand What Is Going To Happen - Maybe.

My Room For Books And Study Or For Sitting And Thinking About Nothing In Particular To See What Would Happen Was At The End Of A Hall.

If [america] Forgets Where She Came From, If The People Lose Sight Of What Brought Them Along, If She Listens To The Deniers And Mockers, Then Will Begin The Rot And Dissolution.

And Those Who Say, "i'll Try Anything Once," Often Try Nothing Twice, Three Times, Arriving Late At The Gate Of Dreams Worth Dying For.

I Knew I Would Read All Kinds Of Books And Try To Get At What It Is That Makes Good Writers Good. But I Made No Promises That I Would Write Books A Lot Of People Would Like To Read.

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.

Poetry Is A Section Of River-fog And Moving Boat-lights, Delivered Between Bridges And Whistles, So One Says, 'oh!' And Another, 'how?'

All My Life I Have Been Trying To Learn, To Read, To See And Hear, And To Write. At Sixty-five I Began My First Novel And After The Five Years, Lacking A Month, I Took To Finish It, I Was Still Traveling, Still A Seeker.

Arithmetic Is Where Numbers Fly Like Pigeons In And Out Of Your Head.

Out Of Great Russia Came Three Dusky Syllables Workmen Took Guns And Went Out To Die For: Bread, Peace, Land.

I Remember The Chillicothe Ballplayers Grappling The Long Island Ball Players In A Sixteen-inning Game Ended By Darkness. And The Shoulders Of The Chillicothe Players Were A Red Smoke Against The Sundown And The Shoulders Of The Rock Island Players Were A Yellow Smoke Against The Sundown. And The Umpire's Voice Was Hoarse Calling Balls And Strikes And Outs And The Umpire's Throat Fought In The Dust For A Song.

It Is Necessary Now And Then For A Man To Go Away By Himself And Experience Loneliness; To Sit On A Rock In The Forest And To Ask Of Himself, 'who Am I, And Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?'...if One Is Not Careful, One Allows Diversions To Take Up One's Time-the Stuff Of Life

Poetry Is A Fresh Morning Spider-web Telling A Story Of Moonlit Hours Of Weaving And Waiting During A Night.

There Is An Eagle In Me That Wants To Soar, And There Is A Hippopotamus In Me That Wants To Wallow In The Mud.

Christian Inspirational

Valor Is A Gift. Those Having It Never Know For Sure Whether They Have It Until The Test Comes.

Thank You Veteran

Poetry Is A Tracing Of The Trajectories Of A Finite Sound To The Infinite Points Of Its Echoes.

Poetry Is A Search For Syllables To Shoot At The Barriers Of The Unknown And The Unknowable.

The Fog Comes On Little Cat Feet. It Sits Looking Over The Harbor And City On Silent Haunches And Then Moves On.

I Make It Clear Why I Write As I Do And Why Other Poets Write As They Do. After Hundreds Of Experiments I Decided To Go My Own Way In Style And See What Would Happen.

Poetry Is The Journal Of The Sea Animal Living On Land, Wanting To Fly In The Air. Poetry Is A Search For Syllables To Shoot At The Barriers Of The Unknown And The Unknowable. Poetry Is A Phantom Script Telling How Rainbows Are Made And Why They Go Away.

We Had Two Grand Antique Professors Who Had Been Teaching At Lombard Since Before I Was Born.

Why Does A Hearse Horse Snicker, Hauling A Lawyer Away?

Under The Harvest Moon, When The Soft Silver Drips Shimmering Over The Garden Nights, Death, The Gray Mocker, Comes And Whispers To You As A Beautiful Friend Who Remembers.

Alike And Ever Alike, We Are On All Continents In The Need Of Love, Food, Clothing, Work, Speech, Worship, Sleep, Games, Dancing, Fun. From Tropics To Arctics Humanity Live With These Needs So Alike, So Inexorably Alike.

Poetry Is The Journal Of A Sea Animal Living On Land, Wanting To Fly In The Air.

I Stayed Away From Mathematics Not So Much Because I Knew It Would Be Hard Work As Because Of The Amount Of Time I Knew It Would Take, Hours Spent In A Field Where I Was Not A Natural.

I Had Been Keeping An Off Eye On The Advertising Field, Thinking I Might Become An Idea Man And A Copywriter.

Freedom Is Baffling: Men Having It Often Know Not They Have It Till It Is Gone And They No Longer Have It.

The Drum In A Dream Pounds Loud To The Dreamer.

Poetry Is The Arithmetic Of The Easiest Way And The Primrose Path, Matched Up With Foam-flanked Horses, Bloody Knuckles, And Bones, On The Hard Ways To The Stars.

Shakespeare, Leonardo Da Vinci, Benjamin Franklin And Abraham Lincoln Never Saw A Movie, Heard A Radio Or Looked At Television. They Had 'loneliness' And Knew What To Do With It. They Were Not Afraid Of Being Lonely Because They Knew That Was When The Creative Mood In Them Would Work.

Enough Small Empty Boxes Thrown Into A Big Empty Box Fill It Full.

There Have Been As Many Varieties Of Socialists As There Are Wild Birds That Fly In The Woods And Sometimes Go Up And On Through The Clouds.

To Those Who Had Ordered Them To Death, One Of Them Said: “we Die Because The People Are Asleep And You Will Die Because The People Will Awaken.”

I Have Become Infected, Now That I See How Beautifully A Book Is Coming Out Of All This.

Let A Joy Keep You. Reach Out Your Hands And Take It When It Runs By.

Poetry Is A Mock Of A Cry At Finding A Million Dollars And A Mock Of A Laugh At Losing It.

Every Blunder Behind Us Is Giving A Cheer For Us, And Only For Those Who Were Willing To Fail Are The Dangers And Splendors Of Life.

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.

Come On, You Do You Want To Live Forever?

I Have Often Wondered What It Is An Old Building Can Do To You When You Happen To Know A Little About Things That Went On Long Ago In That Building.

I Never Made A Mistake In Grammar But One In My Life And As Soon As I Done It I Seen It.

The Wind Bit Hard At Valley Forge One Christmas. Soldiers Tied Rags On Their Feet. Red Footprints Wrote On The Snow...

Back Of Every Mistaken Venture And Defeat Is The Laughter Of Wisdom, If You Listen.

I Am! I Have Come Through! I Belong!

The Squeaky Wheel Gets The Grease But The Quacking Duck Gets Shot.

The Marvelous Rebellion Of Man At All Signs Reading "keep Off.

The Greatest Certainty In Life Is Death. The Greatest Uncertainty Is The Time.

Certainty In Life

What If Someone Gave A War & Nobody Came? / Life Would Ring The Bells Of Ecstasy And Forever Be Itself Again.

The People Know What The Land Knows.

In The Average Newspaper There Is Not A Complete Suppression Of Stories That The Sacred Cows Don't Want Printed. But Rather What Happens Is That The Stories Get Printed With Stresses, Colorations And Emphasis That Favor The Sacred Cows.

Lips Half-willing In A Doorway. Lips Half-singing At A Window. Eyes Half-dreaming In The Walls. Feet Half-dancing In A Kitchen. Even The Clocks Half-yawn The Hours And The Farmers Make Half-answers.

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. I Am The Grass. I Cover All.

There Are People Who Want To Be Everywhere At Once, And They Get Nowhere

Nearly All The Best Things That Came To Me In Life Have Been Unexpected, Unplanned By Me.

Pleasant Surprises

Yesterday Is Done. Tomorrow Never Comes. Today Is Here. If You Don't Know What To Do, Sit Still And Listen. You May Hear Something. Nobody Knows.

Yesterday And Tomorrow Cross And Mix On The Skyline. The Two Are Lost In A Purple Haze. One Forgets, One Waits.

The Impact Of Television On Our Culture Is. . . Indescribable. There's A Certain Sense In Which It Is Nearly As Important As The Invention Of Printing.

Poetry Is A Type-font Design For An Alphabet Of Fun, Hate, Love, Death.

If The Facts Are Against You, Argue The Law. If The Law Is Against You, Argue The Facts. If The Law And The Facts Are Against You, Pound The Table And Yell Like Hell

Poetry Is The Report Of A Nuance Between Two Moments, When People Say, 'listen!' And 'did You See It?' 'did You Hear It? What Was It?'

Tell Him Solitude Is Creative If He Is Strong And The Final Decisions Are Made In Silent Rooms. Tell Him To Be Different From Other People If It Comes Natural And Easy Being Different. Let Him Have Lazy Days Seeking His Deeper Motives. Let Him Seek Deep For Where He Is A Born Natural. Then He May Understand Shakespeare And The Wright Brothers, Pasteur, Pavlov, Michael Faraday And Free Imaginations Bringing Changes Into A World Resenting Change. He Will Be Lonely Enough To Have Time For The Work He Knows As His Own.

What Of The Wright Boys In Dayton? Just Around The Corner They Had A Shop And Did A Bicycle Business-and They Wanted To Fly For The Sake Of Flying. They Were Man The Seeker, Man On A Quest. Money Was Their Last Thought, Their Final Absent-minded Idea. They Threw Out A Lot Of Old Mistaken Measurements And Figured New Ones That Stood Up When They Took Off And Held The Air And Steered A Course. They Proved That "the Faster You Go The Less Power You Need."

And All Poets Love Dust And Mist Because All The Last Answers. Go Running Back To Dust And Mist.

Gather The Stars If You Wish It So Gather The Songs And Keep Them. Gather The Faces Of Women. Gather For Keeping Years And Years. And Then... Loosen Your Hands, Let Go And Say Good-bye. Let The Stars And Songs Go. Let The Faces And Years Go. Loosen Your Hands And Say Good-bye.

Be Careful With Your Words, Once They Are Said, They Can Only Be Forgiven, Not Forgotten.

Shame Is The Feeling You Have When You Agree With The Woman Who Loves You That You Are The Man She Thinks You Are.

Our Lives Are Like A Candle In The Wind.

A Liar Goes In Fine Clothes, A Liar Goes In Rags, A Liar Is A Liar, Clothes Or No Clothes.

The Impact Of Television On Our Culture Is Just Indescribable.

Let Your Heart Look On White Sea Spray And Be Lonely. Love Is A Fool Star. You And A Ring Of Stars May Mention My Name And Then Forget Me. Love Is A Fool Star.

Who Am I, Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?

Self Reflection

Time Is A Great Teacher, Who Can Live Without Hope?

Arithmetic Is Numbers You Squeeze From Your Head To Your Hand To Your Pencil To Your Paper Till You Get The Answer.

Often I Look Back And See That I Had Been Many Kinds Of A Fool-and That I Had Been Happy In Being This Or That Kind Of Fool.

Beware Of Advice-even This.

Poetry Is A Kinetic Arrangement Of Static Syllables.

There Are Dreams Stronger Than Death. Men And Women Die Holding These Dreams.

The Scholars And Poets Of An Earlier Time Can Be Read Only With A Dictionary To Help.

Poetry Is The Establishment Of A Metaphorical Link Between White Butterfly-wings And The Scraps Of Torn-up Love-letters.

I Take You And Pile High The Memories. Death Will Break Her Claws On Some I Keep.

Poetry Is A Theorem Of A Yellow-silk Handkerchief Knotted With Riddles, Sealed In A Balloon Tied To The Tail Of A Kite Flying In A White Wind Against A Blue Sky In Spring.

We Live In The Time Of The Colossal Upright Oblong.

Somebody's Little Girl- How Easy It Is To Make A Sob Story Over Who She Once Was And Who She Now Is.

Poetry Is A Sequence Of Dots And Dashes, Spelling Depths, Crypts, Cross-lights, And Moon Wisps.

There Are Men And Women So Lonely They Believe God, Too, Is Lonely.

I Want To Do The Right Thing, But Often I Don't Know Just What The Right Thing Is. Every Day I Know I Have Come Short Of What I Would Like To Have Done. Yet As The Years Pass And I See The Very World Itself, With Its Oceans And Mountains And Plains, As Something Unfinished, A Peculiar Little Satisfaction Hunts Out The Corners Of My Heart. Sunsets And Evening Shadows Find Me Regretful At Task's Undone, But Sleep And The Dawn And The Air Of The Morning Touch Me With Freshening Hopes. Strange Things Blow In Through My Window On The Wings Of The Night Wind And I Don't Worry About My Destiny.

The Dead Hold In Their Hands Only What They Have Given Away.

His Books Were Part Of Him. Each Year Of His Life, It Seemed, His Books Became More And More A Part Of Him. This Room, Thirty By Twenty Feet, And The Walls Of Shelves Filled With Books, Had For Him The Murmuring Of Many Voices. In The Books Of Herodotus, Tacitus, Rabelais, Thomas Browne, John Milton, And Scores Of Others, He Had Found Men Of Face And Voice More Real To Him Than Many A Man He Had Met For A Smoke And A Talk.

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work- I Am The Grass; I Cover All. And Pile Them High At Gettysburg. And Pile Them High At Ypres And Verdun. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. Two Years, Ten Years,and Passengers Ask The Conductor- What Place Is This? Where Are We Now? I Am The Grass. Let Me Work.

The People Will Live On.the Learning And Blundering People Will Live On.

Poetry Is A Sky Dark With A Wild-duck Migration.

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.

I Learned You Can't Trust The Judgment Of Good Friends.

Time Is The Coin Of Your Life. You Spend It. Do Not Allow Others To Spend It For You.

Hope Is An Echo, Hope Ties Itself Yonder, Yonder.

Poetry Is Statement Of A Series Of Equations, With Numbers And Symbols Changing Like The Changes Of Mirrors, Pools, Skies, The Only Never-changing Sign Being The Sign Of Infinity.

I Am The People The Mob The Crowd The Mass. Do You Know That All The Great Work Of The World Is Done Through Me?

I Could Safely Declare, I Am An Idealist... I Believe In Everything - I Am Only Looking For Proofs.

I Been A Wanderin' Early And Late, New York City To The Golden Gate An' It Looks Like I'm Never Gonna Cease My Wanderin'.

Money Is Power, Freedom, A Cushion, The Root Of All Evil, The Sum Of Blessings.

I Have In Later Years Taken To Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, In An Elemental Way.

Poetry Is A Slipknot Tightened Around A Time-beat Of One Thought, Two Thoughts, And A Last Interweaving Thought There Is Not Yet A Number For.

To Work Hard, To Live Hard, To Die Hard, And Then Go To Hell After All Would Be Too Damned Hard.

Poetry Is The Synthesis Of Hyacinths And Biscuits.

Such A Big Miracle In Such A Tiny Baby. Big Things Often Have Small Beginnings A Baby Is God's Opinion That Life Should Go On.

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.

Time Says Hush: By The Gong Of Time You Live. Listen And You Hear Time Saying You Were Silent Long Before You Came To Life And You Will Again Be Silent Long After You Leave It, Why Not Be A Little Silent Now? Hush Yourself, Noisy Little Man. Time Hushes All: The Gong Of Time Rang For You To Come Out Of The Hush And You Were Born. The Gong Of Time Will Ring For You To Go Back To The Same Hush You Came From. Winners And Losers, The Weak And The Strong, Those Who Say Little And Try To Say It Well, And Those Who Babble And Prattle Their Lives Away, Time Hushes All.

There Are Ten Men In Me And I Do Not Know Or Understand One Of Them.

I Asked The Professors Who Teach The Meaning Of Life To Tell Me What Is Happiness. And I Went To Famous Executives Who Boss The Work Of Thousands Of Men. They All Shook Their Heads And Gave Me A Smile As Though I Was Trying To Fool With Them. And Then One Sunday Afternoon I Wandered Out Along The Desplaines River And I Saw A Crowd Of Hungarians Under The Trees With Their Women And Children And A Keg Of Beer And An Accordion.

Let The Gentle Bush Dig Its Root Deep And Spread Upward To Split The Boulder.

Poetry Is A Diary Kept By A Sea Creature Who Lives On Land And Wishes He Could Fly.

A Liar Is A Liar And Lives On The Lies He Tells And Dies In A Life Of Lies.

What Else Have I Done Nearly All My Life Than Go Hungry And Go On Singing?

Not Often In The Story Of Mankind Does A Man Arrive On Earth Who Is Both Steel And Velvet, Who Is As Hard As Rock And Soft As Drifting Fog, Who Holds In His Heart And Mind The Paradox Of Terrible Storm And Peace Unspeakable And Perfect.

It Is The Business Of Little Minds To Shrink.

When I Was Writing Pretty Poor Poetry, This Girl With Midnight Black Hair Told Me To Go On.

I Wrote Poems In My Corner Of The Brooks Street Station. I Sent Them To Two Editors Who Rejected Them Right Off. I Read Those Letters Of Rejection Years Later And I Agreed With Those Editors.

You Know Being Born Is Important To You. You Know Nothing Else Was Ever So Important To You.

I Couldn't See Myself Filling Some Definite Niche In What Is Called A Career. This Was All Misty.

A Politician Should Have Three Hats. One For Throwing Into The Ring, One For Talking Through, And One For Pulling Rabbits Out Of If Elected.

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.

Love Your Neighbor As Yourself But Don't Take Down Your Fence.

My Name Is Truth And I Am The Most Elusive Captive In The Universe.

To Be A Good Loser Is To Learn How To Win.

Whenever A People Or An Institution Forget Its Hard Beginnings, It Is Beginning To Decay.

If I Added To Their Pride Of America, I Am Happy.

There Is An Eagle In Me That Wants To Soar.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.

I Doubt If You Can Have A Truly Wild Party Without Liquor.

Money Buys Everything Except Love, Personality, Freedom, Immortality, Silence, Peace.

I Had Taken A Course In Ethics. I Read A Thick Textbook, Heard The Class Discussions And Came Out Of It Saying I Hadn't Learned A Thing I Didn't Know Before About Morals And What Is Right Or Wrong In Human Conduct.

Strange Things Blow In Through My Window On The Wings Of The Night Wind And I Don't Worry About My Destiny.

Time Is The Coin Of Your Life. It Is The Only Coin You Have, And Only You Can Determine How It Will Be Spent. Be Careful Lest You Let Other People Spend It For You.

The Fog Comes On Little Cat Feet.

The Buffaloes Are Gone. And Those Who Saw The Buffaloes Are Gone.

There Is A Warning Love Sends And The Cost Of It Is Never Written Till Long Afterward.

Where Was I Going? I Puzzled And Wondered About It Til I Actually Enjoyed The Puzzlement And Wondering.

I Glory In This World Of Men And Women, Torn With Troubles, Yet Living On To Love And Laugh Through It All.

I Tell You The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes, So Live Not In Your Yesterdays, No Just For Tomorrow, But In The Here And Now. Keep Moving And Forget The Post Mortems; And Remember, No One Can Get The Jump On The Future.

Read The Dictionary From A To Izzard Today. Get A Vocabulary. Brush Up On Your Diction. See Whether Wisdom Is Just A Lot Of Language.

Poetry Is A Fossil Rock-print Of A Fin And A Wing, With An Illegible Oath Between.

I'll Die Propped Up In Bed Trying To Do A Poem About America.

One Of The Greatest Necessities In America Is To Discover Creative Solitude.

Poetry Is A Phantom Script Telling How Rainbows Are Made And Why They Go Away.

We Read Robert Browning's Poetry. Here We Needed No Guidance From The Professor: The Poems Themselves Were Enough.

Poetry Is A Projection Across Silence Of Cadences Arranged To Break That Silence With Definite Intentions Of Echoes, Syllables, Wave Lengths.

There Is Only One Child In The World And The Child’s Name Is All Children.

It Was Here We Turned The Coffee Cups Upside Down. And Your Eyes And The Moon Swept The Valley.

Didn't You Tie The Mittens On Her Feet (wednesday Evening's) Extra Special Nice? Yes--she Is An Extra Special Nice Pigeon. She Cries For Pity When She Wants Pity. And She Shuts Her Eyes When She Doesn't Want To Look At You. And If You Look Deep In Her Eyes When Her Eyes Are Open You Will See Lights There Exactly Like The Lights On The Pastures And The Meadows When The Mist Is Drifting On A Wednesday Evening Just Between The Twilight And Gloaming.

Never Will A Time Come When The Most Marvelous Recent Invention Is As Marvelous As A Newborn Child.

Poetry Is The Capture Of A Picture, A Song, Or A Flair, In A Deliberate Prism Of Words.

The Woman Named Tomorrow Sits With A Hairpin In Her Teeth And Takes Her Time

You Remember Some Bedrooms You Have Slept In. There Are Bedrooms You Like To Remember And Others You Would Like To Forget.

Poetry Is An Enumeration Of Birds, Bees, Babies, Butterflies, Bugs, Bambinos, Babayagas, And Bipeds, Beating Their Way Up Bewildering Bastions.

The Sea Speaks A Language Polite People Never Repeat. It Is A Colossal Scavenger Slang And Has No Respect.

By Night The Skyscraper Looms In The Smoke And The Stars And Has A Soul.

The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes

Poetry Is An Exhibit Of One Pendulum Connecting With Other And Unseen Pendulums Inside And Outside The One Seen.

There Was Always The Consolation That If I Didn't Like What I Wrote I Could Throw It Away Or Burn It.

Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust, If The Women Don't Get You Then The Whiskey Must.

The Single Clenched Fist Lifted And Ready, Or The Open Asking Hand Held Out And Waiting. Choose: For We Meet By One Or The Other.

Always The Path Of American Destiny Has Been Into The Unknown. Always There Arose Enough Reserves Of Strength, Balances Of Sanity, Portions Of Wisdom To Carry The Nation Through To A Fresh Start With Ever-renewing Vitality.

Poetry Is A Puppet-show, Where Riders Of Skyrockets And Divers Of Sea Fathoms Gossip About The Sixth Sense And The Fourth Dimension.

Men Of Ideas Vanish When Freedom Vanishes.

The Peace Of Great Books Be For You, Stains Of Pressed Clover Leaves On Pages, Bleach Of The Light Of Years Held In Leather.

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."

There Will Be A Rusty Gun On The Wall, Sweetheart, The Rifle Grooves Curling With Flakes Of Rust. A Spider Will Make A Silver String Nest In The Darkest, Warmest Corner Of It.

What If They Gave A War And Nobody Came?

International Peace

All My Life I Have Been Trying To Learn To Read, To See And Hear, And To Write.

Lay Me On An Anvil, O God. Beat Me And Hammer Me Into A Steel Spike.

All We Need To Begin With Is A #‎ Dream That We Can Do Better Than Before. All We Need To Have Is Faith, And That Dream Will Come True. All We Need To Do Is Act, And The Time For Action Is Now.

I Have Always Felt That A Woman Has The Right To Treat The Subject Of Her Age With Ambiguity Until, Perhaps, She Passes Into The Realm Of Over Ninety. Then It Is Better She Be Candid With Herself And With The World.

Poetry Is A Packsack Of Invisible Keepsakes.

Poetry Is An Art Practiced With The Terribly Plastic Material Of Human Language.

I Have Written Some Poetry That I Don't Understand Myself.

I've Written Some Poetry I Don't Understand Myself.

Now I Am Here - Now Read Me - Give Me A Name.

I Can Remember Only A Few Of The Strange And Curious Words Now Dead But Living And Spoken By The English People A Thousand Years Ago.

I Took To Wearing A Black Tie Known As The Ascot, With Long Drooping Ends. I Had Seen Pictures Of Painters, Sculptors, Poets, Wearing This Style Of Tie.

Poetry Is A Dance Music Measuring Buck-and-wing Follies Along With The Gravest And Stateliest Dead-marches.

Tongues Wrangled Dark At A Man. He Buttoned His Overcoat And Stood Alone. In A Snowstorm, Red Hollyberries, Thoughts, He Stood Alone.

Rest Is Not A Word Of Free People. Rest Is A Monarchical Word.

Poetry Is The Silence And Speech Between A Wet Struggling Root Of A Flower And A Sunlit Blossom Of That Flower.

Slang Is A Language That Rolls Up Its Sleeves, Spits On Its Hands And Goes To Work.

My First Stringed Instrument Was A Cigar Box Banjo Where I Cut And Turned The Pegs And Strung The Wires Myself.

I Cried Over Beautiful Things, Knowing No Beautiful Thing Lasts.

The Greatest Cunning Is To Have None At All.

Ordering A Man To Write A Poem Is Like Commanding A Pregnant Woman To Give Birth To A Red-headed Child.

Give Me Hunger, Pain And Want, Shut Me Out With Shame And Failure From Your Doors Of Gold And Fame, Give Me Your Shabbiest, Weariest Hunger! But Leave Me A Little Love.

Who Else Speaks For The Family Of Man? They Are In Tune And Step With Constellations Of Universal Law.

Poetry Is Any Page From A Sketchbook Of Outlines Of A Doorknob With Thumb-prints Of Dust, Blood, Dreams.

I Was Up Day And Night With Lincoln For Years. I Couldn't Have Picked A Better Companion.

A Tree Is Best Measured When It Is Down - And So It Is With People.

To Never See A Fool You Lock Yourself In Your Room And Smash The Looking-glass.

Poetry Is The Cipher Key To The Five Mystic Wishes Packed In A Hollow Silver Bullet Fed To A Flying Fish.

Drum On Your Drums, Batter On Your Banjos, Sob On The Long Cool Winding Saxophones. Go To It, O Jazzmen.

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