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In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.
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
Words
Anything
Ideas
Rhythms
Must
Images
Writing
Rhythm
Love
Capacity
Poetry
Age
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
The thinker as reader reads what has been written. He wears the words he reads to look upon Within his being.
Wallace Stevens
At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
Wallace Stevens
The heavy trees, The grunting, shuffling branches, the robust, The nocturnal, the antique, the blue-green pines Deepen the feelings to inhuman depths.
Wallace Stevens
Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.
Wallace Stevens
Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
Wallace Stevens
The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.
Wallace Stevens
The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
Wallace Stevens
Poetry is poetry, and one's objective as a poet is to achieve poetry precisely as one's objective in music is to achieve music.
Wallace Stevens
The wind shifts like this: Like a human without illusions, Who still feels irrational things within her.
Wallace Stevens
The point of vision and desire are the same.
Wallace Stevens
Civilization must be destroyed. The hairy saints of the North have earned this crumb by their complaints.
Wallace Stevens
Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.
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There may be always a time of innocence. There is never a place.
Wallace Stevens
The imagination is one of the forces of nature.
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My tribute to mystical, magical trees that the Cherokee called standing people. . . .
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The sea Severs not only lands but also selves.
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It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are.
Wallace Stevens
Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.
Wallace Stevens
The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks And far beyond the discords of the wind.
Wallace Stevens
Freedom is like a man who kills himself Each night, an incessant butcher, whose knife Grows sharp in blood.
Wallace Stevens
