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And even now she beats her head against the bars in the same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe there is romance and big things and real dreams that never go smash.
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
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Beats
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
Newspapers tell beforehand what is going to happen - maybe.
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Poetry is the arithmetic of the easiest way and the primrose path, matched up with foam-flanked horses, bloody knuckles, and bones, on the hard ways to the stars.
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If [America] forgets where she came from, if the people lose sight of what brought them along, if she listens to the deniers and mockers, then will begin the rot and dissolution.
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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
Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
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Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
Carl Sandburg
And those who say, I'll try anything once, often try nothing twice, three times, arriving late at the gate of dreams worth dying for.
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Man is a long time coming. Man will yet win. Brother may yet line up with brother: This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.There are men who can't be bought.
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Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.
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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.
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Poetry is a section of river-fog and moving boat-lights, delivered between bridges and whistles, so one says, 'Oh!' and another, 'How?'
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
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And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.
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Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.
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Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.
Carl Sandburg
I see America, not in the setting sun of a black night of despair ahead of us, I see America in the crimson light of a rising sun fresh from the burning, creative hand of God. I see great days ahead, great days possible to men and women of will and vision.
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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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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
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I am! I have come through! I belong!
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Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
Carl Sandburg