Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment.
Carl SandburgIt 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?
Carl SandburgStrange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
Carl Sandburg