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Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.
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
Dead
Bucks
Music
Wing
March
Folly
Gravest
Wings
Marches
Dance
Follies
Poetry
Buck
Along
Measuring
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.
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A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.
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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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To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damned hard.
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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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And those who say, I'll try anything once, often try nothing twice, three times, arriving late at the gate of dreams worth dying for.
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Men of ideas vanish when freedom vanishes.
Carl Sandburg
The impact of television on our culture is just indescribable.
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Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.
Carl Sandburg
The people know what the land knows.
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Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.
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By night the skyscraper looms in the smoke and the stars and has a soul.
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Poetry is an exhibit of one pendulum connecting with other and unseen pendulums inside and outside the one seen.
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Love your neighbor as yourself but don't take down your fence.
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The machine yes the machine never wastes anybody's time never watches the foreman never talks back.
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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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Poetry is a mock of a cry at finding a million dollars and a mock of a laugh at losing it.
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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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Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.
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The woman named Tomorrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and takes her time
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