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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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.
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People lie because they don't remember clear what they saw. People lie because they can't help making a story better than it was the way it happened.
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When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
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Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
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So I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them: Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
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There is a music for lonely hearts nearly always. If the music dies down there is a silence. Almost the same as the movement of music. To know silence perfectly is to know music.
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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.
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Love your neighbor as yourself but don't take down your fence.
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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.
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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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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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Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.
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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.
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I've written some poetry I don't understand myself.
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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.
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I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.
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I wrote poems in my corner of the Brooks Street station. I sent them to two editors who rejected them right off. I read those letters of rejection years later and I agreed with those editors.
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Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.
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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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