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Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.

Carl Sandburg

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Carl Sandburg
Age: 89 †
Born: 1878
Born: January 6
Died: 1967
Died: July 22
Biographer
Historian
Journalist
Musicologist
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Trade Unionist
Writer
Galesburg
Illinois
Carl August Sandburg
Sleeves
Spit
Goes
Language
Hands
Writing
Spits
Work
Slang
Rolls

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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Never will a time come when the most marvelous recent invention is as marvelous as a newborn child.
Carl Sandburg
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I couldn't see myself filling some definite niche in what is called a career. This was all misty.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a slipknot tightened around a time-beat of one thought, two thoughts, and a last interweaving thought there is not yet a number for.
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To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damned hard.
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I could safely declare, I am an idealist... I believe in everything - I am only looking for proofs.
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And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.
Carl Sandburg
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I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing, with an illegible oath between.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
Carl Sandburg
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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?
Carl Sandburg
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People lie because they don't remember clear what they saw. People lie because they can't help making a story better than it was the way it happened.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
Carl Sandburg
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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.
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Now is the time. It is never too late to start something.
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I am! I have come through! I belong!
Carl Sandburg
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Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.
Carl Sandburg
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A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a tracing of the trajectories of a finite sound to the infinite points of its echoes.
Carl Sandburg
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.
Carl Sandburg