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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.
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
Lines
Hammers
Winning
Laughs
May
Bought
Many
Line
Long
Brother
Men
Broken
Time
Laughing
Anvil
Coming
Anvils
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
Money is power, freedom, a cushion, the root of all evil, the sum of blessings.
Carl Sandburg
Time is the coin of your life. You spend it. Do not allow others to spend it for you.
Carl Sandburg
Be careful with your words, once they are said, they can only be forgiven, not forgotten.
Carl Sandburg
In democracy both a deep reverence and a sense of the comic are requisite.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
Carl Sandburg
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.
Carl Sandburg
Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.
Carl Sandburg
The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is the capture of a picture, a song, or a flair, in a deliberate prism of words.
Carl Sandburg
Often I look back and see that I had been many kinds of a fool-and that I had been happy in being this or that kind of fool.
Carl Sandburg
And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.
Carl Sandburg
There is no song to your singing.
Carl Sandburg
Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
Carl Sandburg
Nothing happens... but first a dream.
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Poetry is a slipknot tightened around a time-beat of one thought, two thoughts, and a last interweaving thought there is not yet a number for.
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Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.
Carl Sandburg
A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.
Carl Sandburg