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Arithmetic Is Where The Answer Is Right And Everything Is Nice And You Can Look Out Of The Window And See The Blue Sky - Or The Answer Is Wrong And You Have To Start Over And Try Again And See How It Comes Out This Time.

-Carl Sandburg

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Arithmetic Is Where The

Carl Sandburg

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Arithmetic Is Where The Answer Is Right And Everything Is Nice And You Can Look Out Of The Window And See The Blue Sky - Or The Answer Is Wrong And You Have To Start Over And Try Again And See How It Comes Out This Time.

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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.

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.

The Secret Of Happiness Is To Admire Without Desiring.

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.

A Baby Is God's Opinion That Life Should Go On.

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.

Poetry Is The Synthesis Of Hyacinths And Biscuits.

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.

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

I Remember In My Early 20s When I Felt I Couldn't Live Past 30. I Was Learning How To Write. I Had A Lot Of Hard Work Ahead Of Me.

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.

I Decided I Would Go To Chicago And Try My Luck As A Writer After Those Eight Months As A Fireman.

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

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

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.

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.”

It Is The Business Of Little Minds To Shrink.

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

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

We Don't Have To Think Up A Title Till We Get The Doggone Book Written.

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

There Are Some People Who Can Receive A Truth By No Other Way Than To Have Their Understanding Shocked And Insulted.

There Is Only One Man In The World And His Name Is All Men. There Is Only One Woman In The World And Her Name Is All Women. There Is Only One Child In The World And The Child's Name Is All Children.

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

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

Certainty In Life

Anger Is The Most Impotent Of Passions. It Effects Nothing It Goes About, And Hurts The One Who Is Possessed By It More Than The One Against Whom It Is Directed.

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.

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

A Book Is Never A Masterpiece: It Becomes One. Genius Is The Talent Of A Dead Man.

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

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

The Impact Of Television On Our Culture Is Just Indescribable.

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

God, Let Me Remember All Good Losers.

Poetry Is A Packsack Of Invisible Keepsakes.

Poetry Is A Kinetic Arrangement Of Static Syllables.

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

The Moon Is A Friend For The Lonesome To Talk To.

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

After The Sunset On The Prairie, There Are Only The Stars

The More Rhymethere Isin Poetry The More Dangerof Its Tricking The Writer Into Something Other Than The Urge In The Beginning.

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.

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.

Poetry Is The Harnessing Of The Paradox Of Earth Cradling Life And Then Entombing It.

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

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

Self Reflection

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

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

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.

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.

In Democracy Both A Deep Reverence And A Sense Of The Comic Are Requisite.

Newspapers Tell Beforehand What Is Going To Happen - Maybe.

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

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.

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.

Tell Me If The Lovers Are Losers... Tell Me If Any Get More Than The Lovers.

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.

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

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.

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

Tell No Man Anything, For No Man Listens Yet Hold Thy Lips Ready To Speak.

Sometime They'll Give A War And Nobody Will Come.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

Poetry Is A Series Of Explanations Of Life, Fading Off Into Horizons Too Swift For Explanations.

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

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

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

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

The Drum In A Dream Pounds Loud To The Dreamer.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

It Is Necessary ... For A Man To Go Away By Himself ... To Sit On A Rock ... And Ask, 'who Am I, Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?

The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes

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

The People Know What The Land Knows.

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.

There Is A Formal Poetry Perfect Only In Form?the Number Of Syllables, The Designated And Required Stresses Of Accent, The Rhymes If Wantedthey Come Off With The Skill Of A Solved Crossword Puzzle.

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

Now Is The Time. It Is Never Too Late To Start Something.

Poetry: A Sliver Of The Moon Lost In The Belly Of A Golden Frog.

Come On, You Do You Want To Live Forever?

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

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.

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.

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

We Live In The Time Of The Colossal Upright Oblong.

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

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

History Is A Living Horse Laughing At A Wooden Horse. History Is A Wind Blowing Where It Listeth. History Is No Sure Thing To Bet On. History Is A Box Of Tricks With A Lost Key. History Is A Labyrinth Of Doors With Sliding Panels, A Book Of Ciphers With The Code In A Cave Of The Saragossa Sea. History Says, If It Pleases, Excuse Me, I Beg Your Pardon, It Will Never Happen Again If I Can Help It.

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

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

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

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

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

Poetry Is An Echo, Asking A Shadow To Dance.

The Fog Comes On Little Cat Feet.

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.

Arithmetic Is Where The Answer Is Right And Everything Is Nice And You Can Look Out Of The Window And See The Blue Sky - Or The Answer Is Wrong And You Have To Start Over And Try Again And See How It Comes Out This Time.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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."

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'.

Poetry Is The Opening And Closing Of A Door, Leaving Those Who Look Through To Guess About What Is Seen During The Moment.

Time Is The Coin Of Our Live. We Must Take Care How We Spend It.

There Is A Wolf In Me... - I Keep This Wolf Because The Wilderness Gave It To Me And The Wilderness Will Not Let It Go.

Beware Of Advice-even This.

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

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

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

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

Thank You Veteran

A Women Is Like A Tea Bag.it's Only When She Is In Hot Water That You Realize How Strong She Is.

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.

What Is There More Of In The World Than Anything Else? Ends.

Corn Wind In The Fall, Come Off The Black Lands, Come Off The Whisper Of The Silk Hangers, The Lap Of The Flat Spear Leaves.

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

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

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.

Come Clean With A Child Heart Laugh As Peaches In The Summer Wind Let Rain On A House Roof Be A Song Let The Writing On Your Face Be A Smell Of Apple Orchards On Late June.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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."

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

And How Should A Beautiful, Ignorant Stream Of Water Know It Heads For An Early Release — Out Across The Desert, Running Toward The Gulf, Below Sea Level, To Murmur Its Lullaby, And See The Imperial Valley Rise Out Of Burning Sand With Cotton Blossoms, Wheat, Watermelons, Roses, How Should It Know?

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

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.

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

The Greatest Cunning Is To Have None At All.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

Nothing Happens Unless First We Dream.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.

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

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.

What If They Gave A War And Nobody Came?

International Peace

Calling It Off Comes Easy Enough If You Haven't Told The Girl You Are Smitten With Her.

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

In These Times You Have To Be An Optimist To Open Your Eyes When You Awake In The Morning.

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

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.

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

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?'

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

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.

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

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

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

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

Poetry Is A Shuffling Of Boxes Of Illusions Buckled With A Strap Of Facts.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

Our Lives Are Like A Candle In The Wind.

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 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.

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.

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.

The Sea Is Always The Same: And Yet The Sea Always Changes.

Life Goes Before We Know What It Is. / One Fool Is Enough In Any House. / Even God Gets Tired Of Too Much Hallelujah. / Take It Easy And Live Long As Brothers.

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

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.

A Man May Be Born, But In Order To Be Born He Must First Die, And In Order To Die He Must First Awake.

There Is No Song To Your Singing.

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.

The Shovel Is The Brother To The Gun.

People Lie Because They Don't Remember Clear What They Saw. People Lie Because They Can't Help Making A Story Better Than It Was The Way It Happened.

Life Is Like An Onion. You Peel It Off One Layer At A Time, And Sometimes You Weep.

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.

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

Pleasant Surprises

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

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