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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.

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
Else
Ends
Anything
World

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.
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I have often wondered what it is an old building can do to you when you happen to know a little about things that went on long ago in that building.
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I been a wanderin' Early and late, New York City To the Golden Gate An' it looks like I'm never gonna cease my Wanderin'.
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Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
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Time is a great teacher, Who can live without hope?
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There are some people who can receive a truth by no other way than to have their understanding shocked and insulted.
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God, let me remember all good losers.
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I had taken a course in Ethics. I read a thick textbook, heard the class discussions and came out of it saying I hadn't learned a thing I didn't know before about morals and what is right or wrong in human conduct.
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Be careful with your words, once they are said, they can only be forgiven, not forgotten.
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Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
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Newspapers tell beforehand what is going to happen - maybe.
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The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time
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The impact of television on our culture is just indescribable.
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Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
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Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds.
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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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Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
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Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
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Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
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A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.
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