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Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
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
Dark
Migration
Duck
Ducks
Wild
Sky
Poetry
More quotes by Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable.
Carl Sandburg
When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
Carl Sandburg
I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is the report of a nuance between two moments, when people say, 'Listen!' and 'Did you see it?' 'Did you hear it? What was it?'
Carl Sandburg
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.
Carl Sandburg
I have often wondered what it is an old building can do to you when you happen to know a little about things that went on long ago in that building.
Carl Sandburg
A liar is a liar and lives on the lies he tells and dies in a life of lies.
Carl Sandburg
We live in the time of the colossal upright oblong.
Carl Sandburg
The greatest certainty in life is death. The greatest uncertainty is the time.
Carl Sandburg
Nothing happens unless first we dream.
Carl Sandburg
By night the skyscraper looms in the smoke and the stars and has a soul.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is a section of river-fog and moving boat-lights, delivered between bridges and whistles, so one says, 'Oh!' and another, 'How?'
Carl Sandburg
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.
Carl Sandburg
A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.
Carl Sandburg
Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
Carl Sandburg
Tongues wrangled dark at a man. He buttoned his overcoat and stood alone. In a snowstorm, red hollyberries, thoughts, he stood alone.
Carl Sandburg
Shame is the feeling you have when you agree with the woman who loves you that you are the man she thinks you are.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
Carl Sandburg
The peace of great books be for you, Stains of pressed clover leaves on pages, Bleach of the light of years held in leather.
Carl Sandburg