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Everything is complicated if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.

Wallace Stevens

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Wallace Stevens
Age: 75 †
Born: 1879
Born: October 2
Died: 1955
Died: August 2
Journalist
Lawyer
Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Writer
Else
Everything
Bore
Would
Bores
Life
Aesthetic
Complicated
Poetry
Beauty
Art

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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the windy sky Cries out a literate despair.
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Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates.
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If the hero is not a person, the emblem Of him, even if Xenophon, seems To stand taller than a person stands, has A wider brow, large and less human Eyes and bruted ears: the man-like body Of a primitive.
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True villains are extremely photogenic.
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We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession.
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One must read poetry with one's nerves.
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After a lustre of the moon, we say We have not the need of any paradise, We have not the need of any seducing hymn.
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The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.
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God and the imagination are one.
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Life is the elimination of what is dead.
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On a few words of what is real in the world I nourish myself. I defend myself against Whatever remains.
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We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.
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Fat girl, terrestrial, my summer, my night, How is it I find you in difference, see you there In a moving contour, a change not quite completed? You are familiar yet an aberration.
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I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.
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Realism is a corruption of reality.
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in the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.
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How red the rose that is the soldier
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Union of the weakest develops strength not wisdom. Can all men, together, avenge one of the leaves that have fallen in autumn? But the wise man avenges by building his city in snow.
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It is the belief and not the god that counts.
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A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.
Wallace Stevens