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It is the unknown that excites the ardor of scholars, who, in the known alone, would shrivel up with boredom.
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
Excites
Scholars
Scholar
Boredom
Unknown
Alone
Known
Shrivel
Would
Ardor
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Cold is our element and winter's air Brings voices as of lions coming down.
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Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor.
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Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
Wallace Stevens
To live in the world but outside of existing conceptions of it.
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Words of the world are the life of the world.
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I am one of you and being one of you is being and knowing what I am and know. Yet I am the necessary Angel of earth, since, in my sight, you see the earth again.
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The chrysanthemums' astringent fragrance comes Each year to disguise the clanking mechanism Of machine within machine within machine.
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Unless we believe in the hero, what is there To believe? Incisive what, the fellow Of what good. Devise. Make him of mud.
Wallace Stevens
After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends.
Wallace Stevens
Compare the silent rose of the sun And rain, the blood-rose living in its smell, With this paper, this dust. That states the point.
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Tinsel in February, tinsel in August. There are things in a man besides his reason.
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In a world of universal poverty The philosophers alone will be fat Against the autumn winds In an autumn that will be perpetual.
Wallace Stevens
It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
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The imperfect is our paradise.
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It was autumn and falling stars Covered the shrivelled forms Crouched in the moonlight.
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Anything is beautiful if you say it is.
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What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one's meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.
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the windy sky Cries out a literate despair.
Wallace Stevens
What is there in life except one's ideas, Good air, good friend, what is there in life?
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Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.
Wallace Stevens
