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The fog comes on little cat feet.

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
Allure
Fog
Cat
Feet
Comes
Littles
Little

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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So I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them: Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
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I am! I have come through! I belong!
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Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment.
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Men of ideas vanish when freedom vanishes.
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The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
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Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
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Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
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To those who had ordered them to death, one of them said: “We die because the people are asleep and you will die because the people will awaken.”
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Money is power, freedom, a cushion, the root of all evil, the sum of blessings.
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Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.
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An expert is a damn fool a long way from home.
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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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Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over the garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers.
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I have in later years taken to Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, in an elemental way.
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Somebody's little girl- how easy it is to make a sob story over who she once was and who she now is.
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Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
Carl Sandburg
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I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.
Carl Sandburg
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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
Carl Sandburg