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There is no song to your singing.
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
Singing
Song
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?
Carl Sandburg
Never will a time come when the most marvelous recent invention is as marvelous as a newborn child.
Carl Sandburg
The impact of television on our culture is just indescribable.
Carl Sandburg
Time is a great teacher, Who can live without hope?
Carl Sandburg
Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
Carl Sandburg
Freedom is baffling: men having it often know not they have it till it is gone and they no longer have it.
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
I remember in my early 20s when I felt I couldn't live past 30. I was learning how to write. I had a lot of hard work ahead of me.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
Carl Sandburg
Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
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
The greatest cunning is to have none at all.
Carl Sandburg
Shame is the feeling you have when you agree with the woman who loves you that you are the man she thinks you are.
Carl Sandburg
Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.
Carl Sandburg
Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head.
Carl Sandburg
I couldn't see myself filling some definite niche in what is called a career. This was all misty.
Carl Sandburg
It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness to sit on a rock in the forest and to ask of himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?'...If one is not careful, one allows diversions to take up one's time-the stuff of life
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
Carl Sandburg
A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.
Carl Sandburg
The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
Carl Sandburg