A Quote by Carl Sandburg

The fog comes on little cat feet. — © Carl Sandburg
The fog comes on little cat feet.
One of my earliest memories as a reader - I don't know how old I was, quite young - was a poem of his, called "Fog," and I remember the first verse, "The fog comes / on little cat feet".
Tyranny, like fog in the well known poem, often creeps in silently 'on little cat feet.'
The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
Oh cat, I'd say, or pray: be-ootiful cat! Delicious cat! Exquisite cat! Satiny cat! Cat like a soft owl, cat with paws like moths, jewelled cat, miraculous cat! Cat, cat, cat, cat.
Happiness does not come quickly. It is not conferred by any single event, however exciting or comforting or satisfying the event may be. It cannot be purchased, whatever the allure of the next, the newest, the brightest, the best. Happiness, like Carl Sandburg's fog, "comes on little cat feet," often silently, often without our knowing it, too often without our noticing.
One can imagine having a procedural rule that anything ambiguous should be treated as the Taj Mahal unless we see that it is labelled "fog". The motorist replies: "What sort of rule is this? Surely the best guarantee I can have that the fog is fog is if I fail to see the sign saying 'fog' because of the fog."
Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among green airs and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city.... Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.
Runny's Nicpic One day Runny Babbit Met little Franny Fog. He said, "Let's have a nicpic Down by the lollow hog." He brought some cutter bookies, Some teanuts and some pea. And what did Franny Fog bring? Her whole fog framily.
A house isn't a home without the ineffable contentment of a cat with its tail folded about its feet. A cat gives mystery, charm, suggestion.
Even though you try very hard, the progress you make is always little by little. It is not like going out in a shower in which you know when you get wet. In a fog, you do not know you are getting wet, but as you keep walking you get wet little by little. If your mind has ideas of progress, you may say, 'Oh, this pace is terrible!' But actually it is not. When you get wet in a fog it is very difficult to dry yourself.
And I realized that sometimes the greatest triumphs in your life come in on little cat feet and sit on silent haunches and it's up to you to see it before it moves on.
The snake, the rat, the cat, the dog... How you gonna see 'em if you livin' in the fog?
Love is kind of like when you see a fog in the morning, when you wake up before the sun comes out. It's just a little while, and then it burns away... Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.
The cat crossed the street daintily, pointing his feet like a ballet dancer, lifting them high as if his feet were too good for the pavement.
I really love animals. My cat is my little soul mate. He's not just a cat, he's my friend.
Yes, at times in front of goal a fog descends. Perhaps the speed of my feet doesn't match up with that of my mind.
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