I heard someone say he [Carl Sandburg] was the kind of writer who had everything to gain and nothing to lose by being translated into another language.
A bird half wakened in the lunar noon Sang halfway through its little inborn tune.
A turning point in modern history.
A poem may be worked over once it is in being, but may not be worried into being.
My definition of poetry (if I were forced to give one) would be this: words that have become deeds.
Sentences are not different enough to hold the attention unless they are dramatic. No ingenuity of varying structure will do. All that can save them is the speaking tone of voice somehow entangled in the words and fastened to the page for the ear of the imagination. That is all that can save poetry from sing-song, all that can save prose from itself.
In heaven we are all ghostwriters, if we write at all.
I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice.
If you don't know how great this country is, I know someone who does; Russia.
Poetry begins in trivial metaphors, pretty metaphors, "grace" metaphors, and goes on to the profoundest thinking that we have. Poetry provides the one permissible way of saying one thing and meaning another. People say, "Why don’t you say what you mean?" We never do that, do we, being all of us too much poets. We like to talk in parables and in hints and in indirections - whether from diffidence or some other instinct.
Live and let live, believe and let believe. 'Twas said the lesser gods were only traits Of the one awful God. Just so the saints Are God's white light refracted into colors.
College is a refuge from hasty judgment.
A champion of the workingman has never been known to die of overwork.
I'd just as soon play tennis with the net down.
What are we? Young or new? We must be something.
You, of course, are a rose-- But were always a rose.
I am one who has been acquainted with the night
The snake stood up for evil in the Garden.
I hate the idea that you ought to read the whole of anybody.
A true sonnet goes eight lines and then takes a turn for better or worse and goes six or eight lines more.
I never take my own side in a quarrel.
If the writer does not cry, the reader does not cry.
God once declared He was true And then took the veil and withdrew.
Pressed into service means pressed out of shape.
No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.
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