Carl Sandburg Quotes About Books

Quotes about: Books

• All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.

  Carl Sandburg

  Book, Writing, Trying

  Carl Sandburg (2003). “The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg”, p.31, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

• We don't have to think up a title till we get the doggone book written.

  Carl Sandburg

  Book, Thinking, Titles

• A book is never a masterpiece: it becomes one. Genius is the talent of a dead man.

  Carl Sandburg

  Book, Men, Genius

• 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.

  Carl Sandburg

  Book, Thinking, Sitting

  Carl Sandburg, Margaret Sandburg, George Hendrick (1999). “Ever the Winds of Chance”, p.9, University of Illinois Press

• 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.

  Carl Sandburg

  Book, Writing, People

  Carl Sandburg, Margaret Sandburg, George Hendrick (1983). “Ever the winds of chance”, Univ of Illinois Pr

• 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

  Wall, Real, Book

  Carl Sandburg (1948). “Remembrance Rock”

• The peace of great books be for you,
  Stains of pressed clover leaves on pages,
  Bleach of the light of years held in leather.

  Carl Sandburg

  Book, Light, Years

  Carl Sandburg (2015). “Harvest Poems: 1910-1960”, p.88, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

• I have become infected, now that I see how beautifully a book is coming out of all this.

  Carl Sandburg

  Book, Literature, Coming Out

  Carl Sandburg, Margaret Sandburg, George Hendrick (1999). “Ever the Winds of Chance”, p.11, University of Illinois Press

• 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.

  Carl Sandburg

  Horse, Book, Doors

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