Quote

Life goes before we know what it is. / One fool is enough in any house. / Even God gets tired of too much hallelujah. / Take it easy and live long as brothers.

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
Much
Gets
Long
Goes
Life
Easy
House
Hallelujah
Live
Brothers
Take
Tired
Enough
Fool
Even
Brother

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.
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Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.
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Freedom is baffling: men having it often know not they have it till it is gone and they no longer have it.
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We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born.
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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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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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Time is the coin of your life. You spend it. Do not allow others to spend it for you.
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There are people who want to be everywhere at once, and they get nowhere
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I could safely declare, I am an idealist... I believe in everything - I am only looking for proofs.
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Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
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I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.
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Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
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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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Poetry is a fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing, with an illegible oath between.
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Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
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Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.
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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.
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The scholars and poets of an earlier time can be read only with a dictionary to help.
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