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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.
Carl Sandburg
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If I added to their pride of America, I am happy.
Carl Sandburg
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The simple dignity of a child drinking a bowl of milk embodies the fascination of an ancient rite.
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The people will live on.The learning and blundering people will live on.
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There is an eagle in me that wants to soar.
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Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.
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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.
Carl Sandburg
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The fog comes on little cat feet.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing, with an illegible oath between.
Carl Sandburg
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Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the women don't get you then the whiskey must.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
Carl Sandburg
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There is only one man in the world and his name is All Men. There is only one woman in the world and her name is All Women. There is only one child in the world and the child's name is All Children.
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Time is the coin of your life. You spend it. Do not allow others to spend it for you.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a tracing of the trajectories of a finite sound to the infinite points of its echoes.
Carl Sandburg
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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.
Carl Sandburg
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I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
Carl Sandburg
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Tongues wrangled dark at a man. He buttoned his overcoat and stood alone. In a snowstorm, red hollyberries, thoughts, he stood alone.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is the capture of a picture, a song, or a flair, in a deliberate prism of words.
Carl Sandburg
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The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat. It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.
Carl Sandburg