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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.

-Carl Sandburg

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His Books Were Part

Carl Sandburg

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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.

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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.

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

It Is The Business Of Little Minds To Shrink.

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.

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.

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

The Fog Comes On Little Cat Feet.

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

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.

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

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.

Beware Of Advice-even This.

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

An Expert Is A Damn Fool A Long Way From Home.

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

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.

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

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

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

The Machine Yes The Machine Never Wastes Anybody's Time Never Watches The Foreman Never Talks Back.

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

A Tough Will Counts. So Does Desire.so Does A Rich Soft Wanting.without Rich Wanting Nothing Arrives.

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."

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.

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

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

The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

Certainty In Life

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Nothing Happens... But First A Dream.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

Self Reflection

God, Let Me Remember All Good Losers.

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

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

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

Poetry Is A Packsack Of Invisible Keepsakes.

Poetry Is A Plan For A Slit In The Face Of A Bronze Fountain Goat And The Path Of Fresh Drinking Water.

There Is No Song To Your Singing.

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

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

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?'

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

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

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

Time Is The Coin Of Life. Only You Can Determine How It Will Be Spent.

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

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

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.

I Won't Take My Religion From Any Man Who Never Works Except With His Mouth.

What If They Gave A War And Nobody Came?

International Peace

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

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

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

I Fell In Love, Not Deep, But I Fell Several Times And Then Fell Out.

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

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.

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

Poetry Is An Echo, Asking A Shadow To Dance.

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.

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

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

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

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.

Faith Is Indispensable, And The World At Times Does Not Seem To Have Quite Enough Of It. It Can And Has Accomplished What Seems To Be The Impossible. Wars Have Been Started And Men And Nations Lost For The Lack Of It. Faith Starts From The Individual And Builds Men And Nations. America Was Built By And On The Faith Of Our Ancestors.

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

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

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.

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

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?

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.

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

I Am! I Have Come Through! I Belong!

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

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

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.

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

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

And Even Now She Beats Her Head Against The Bars In The Same Old Way And Wonders If There Is A Bigger Place The Railroads Run To From Chicago Where Maybe There Is Romance And Big Things And Real Dreams That Never Go Smash.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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'.

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.

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

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

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

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

Newspapers Tell Beforehand What Is Going To Happen - Maybe.

Men Of Ideas Vanish When Freedom Vanishes.

The Impact Of Television On Our Culture Is Just Indescribable.

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

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

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

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

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.

There Is An Eagle In Me That Wants To Soar.

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

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.

In The Night The Cabbages Catch At The Moon, The Leaves Drip Silver, The Rows Of Cabbages Are A Series Of Little Silver Waterfalls In The Moon.

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

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

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

Our Lives Are Like A Candle In The Wind.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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'm An Idealist. I Don't Know Where I'm Going, But I'm On My Way.

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.

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

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

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

When One Has The Right Swing And Enthusiasm, Selling Is Not Unlike Hunting, A Veritable Sport. To Scare Up The Game By Preliminary Talk And To Know How Long To Follow It, To Lose Your Gain Through Poorly Directed Argument, To Hang On To Game That Finally Eludes, To Boldly Confront, To Quickly Circle Around, To Keep On The Trail, Tireless And Keen, Till You Have Bagged Some Orders, There Is Some Satisfaction In Returning At Night, Tired Of The Trail, But Proud Of The Days Work Done.

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

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.

Under The Summer Roses When The Flagrant Crimson Lurks In The Dusk Of The Wild Red Leaves, Love, With Little Hands, Comes And Touches You With A Thousand Memories, And Asks You Beautiful, Unanswerable Questions.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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."

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

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

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

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

The People Know What The Land Knows.

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

Nothing Happens Unless First We Dream.

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.

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.

The Drum In A Dream Pounds Loud To The Dreamer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Secret Of Happiness Is To Admire Without Desiring.

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

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

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.

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

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