Share
×
Inspirational Quotes
Authors
Professions
Topics
Tags
Quote
Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
Carl Sandburg
Share
Change background
T
T
T
Change font
Original
TAGS & TOPICS
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
Fingers
Running
Time
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
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.
Carl Sandburg
It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness to sit on a rock in the forest and to ask of himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?'...If one is not careful, one allows diversions to take up one's time-the stuff of life
Carl Sandburg
There is no song to your singing.
Carl Sandburg
The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.
Carl Sandburg
We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born.
Carl Sandburg
Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
Carl Sandburg
Money is power, freedom, a cushion, the root of all evil, the sum of blessings.
Carl Sandburg
There are some people who can receive a truth by no other way than to have their understanding shocked and insulted.
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
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.
Carl Sandburg
When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
Carl Sandburg
All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
Carl Sandburg
The fog comes on little cat feet.
Carl Sandburg
Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits.
Carl Sandburg
The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
Carl Sandburg
Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.
Carl Sandburg
Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.
Carl Sandburg
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.
Carl Sandburg
Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.
Carl Sandburg