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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
Spit
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Language
Hands
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Spits
Work
Slang
Rolls
Sleeves
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.
Carl Sandburg
Tongues wrangled dark at a man. He buttoned his overcoat and stood alone. In a snowstorm, red hollyberries, thoughts, he stood alone.
Carl Sandburg
We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
Carl Sandburg
I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.
Carl Sandburg
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.
Carl Sandburg
I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
Carl Sandburg
Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.
Carl Sandburg
I had been keeping an off eye on the advertising field, thinking I might become an idea man and a copywriter.
Carl Sandburg
There was always the consolation that if I didn't like what I wrote I could throw it away or burn it.
Carl Sandburg
The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time
Carl Sandburg
You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.
Carl Sandburg
Lips half-willing in a doorway. Lips half-singing at a window. Eyes half-dreaming in the walls. Feet half-dancing in a kitchen. Even the clocks half-yawn the hours And the farmers make half-answers.
Carl Sandburg
Yesterday is done. Tomorrow never comes. Today is here. If you don't know what to do, sit still and listen. You may hear something. Nobody knows.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
Carl Sandburg
I stayed away from mathematics not so much because I knew it would be hard work as because of the amount of time I knew it would take, hours spent in a field where I was not a natural.
Carl Sandburg
a women is like a tea bag.it's only when she is in hot water that you realize how strong she is.
Carl Sandburg
Come on, you Do you want to live forever?
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
Carl Sandburg
