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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
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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
Book
Pressed
Great
Leather
Years
Leaves
Held
Pages
Clover
Books
Clovers
Peace
Bleach
Light
Stains
More quotes by 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.
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Nothing happens unless first we dream.
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Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
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Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
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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 baby is God's opinion that life should go on.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment.
Carl Sandburg
Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
Carl Sandburg
Calling it off comes easy enough if you haven't told the girl you are smitten with her.
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Time is a great teacher, Who can live without hope?
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The marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading Keep Off.
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Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.
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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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What else have I done nearly all my life than go hungry and go on singing?
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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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Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
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POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
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In democracy both a deep reverence and a sense of the comic are requisite.
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Be careful with your words, once they are said, they can only be forgiven, not forgotten.
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Nothing happens... but first a dream.
Carl Sandburg