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The machine yes the machine never wastes anybody's time never watches the foreman never talks back.
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
Watches
Technology
Foreman
Back
Wastes
Never
Talks
Time
Machine
Machines
Waste
Anybody
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
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
Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a tracing of the trajectories of a finite sound to the infinite points of its echoes.
Carl Sandburg
Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky - or the answer is wrong and you have to start over and try again and see how it comes out this time.
Carl Sandburg
Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
Carl Sandburg
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.
Carl Sandburg
Here is the difference between Dante, Milton, and me. They wrote about hell and never saw the place. I wrote about Chicago after looking the town over for years and years.
Carl Sandburg
POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
Carl Sandburg
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the women don't get you then the whiskey must.
Carl Sandburg
When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
Carl Sandburg
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.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
Carl Sandburg
Somebody's little girl- how easy it is to make a sob story over who she once was and who she now is.
Carl Sandburg
Come on, you Do you want to live forever?
Carl Sandburg
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
I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.
Carl Sandburg
The greatest cunning is to have none at all.
Carl Sandburg
What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
Carl Sandburg