The woods are lovely, dark, and deep but I have promises to keep...

I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice.

A turning point in modern history.

If the writer does not cry, the reader does not cry.

Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me.

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye; Or overtaken too far from his nest, Hurrying low above the grove, some waif Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe! Now let the night be dark for all of me. Let the night be too dark for me to see Into the future. Let what will be, be.

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.