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I remember in my early 20s when I felt I couldn't live past 30. I was learning how to write. I had a lot of hard work ahead of me.
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
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Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
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Money is power, freedom, a cushion, the root of all evil, the sum of blessings.
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A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.
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There are people who want to be everywhere at once, and they get nowhere
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A liar is a liar and lives on the lies he tells and dies in a life of lies.
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What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
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The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time
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Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?
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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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I have always felt that a woman has the right to treat the subject of her age with ambiguity until, perhaps, she passes into the realm of over ninety. Then it is better she be candid with herself and with the world.
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The fog comes on little cat feet.
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Shame is the feeling you have when you agree with the woman who loves you that you are the man she thinks you are.
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Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
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Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
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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.
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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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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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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 fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing, with an illegible oath between.
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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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