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The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time

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
Sits
Named
Teeth
Tomorrow
Takes
Woman
Time

More quotes by Carl Sandburg

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A politician should have three hats. One for throwing into the ring, one for talking through, and one for pulling rabbits out of if elected.
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For we know when a nation goes down and never comes back, when a society or a civilization perishes, one condition may always be found. They forgot where they came from. They lost sight of what brought them along.
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Nothing happens unless first we dream.
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The people will live on.The learning and blundering people will live on.
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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
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Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?
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Come on, you Do you want to live forever?
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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
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Poetry is a section of river-fog and moving boat-lights, delivered between bridges and whistles, so one says, 'Oh!' and another, 'How?'
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Somebody's little girl- how easy it is to make a sob story over who she once was and who she now is.
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I stayed away from mathematics not so much because I knew it would be hard work as because of the amount of time I knew it would take, hours spent in a field where I was not a natural.
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Tell me if the lovers are losers... tell me if any get more than the lovers.
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Newspapers tell beforehand what is going to happen - maybe.
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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
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Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds.
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And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.
Carl Sandburg
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Poetry is a projection across silence of cadences arranged to break that silence with definite intentions of echoes, syllables, wave lengths.
Carl Sandburg
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I have in later years taken to Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, in an elemental way.
Carl Sandburg
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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
Carl Sandburg
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The machine yes the machine never wastes anybody's time never watches the foreman never talks back.
Carl Sandburg