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Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.

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
Toleration
Respecting
Intolerance
Comparison
Religion
Art
People

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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The great poems of heaven and hell have been written and the great poem of earth remains to be written.
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The word is the making of the world
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Life's nonsense pierces us with strange relation.
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Day after day, throughout the winter, We hardened ourselves to live by bluest reason In a world of wind and frost.
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The imagination is the liberty of the mind It is intrpeid and eager and the extreme of its achievement lies in abstraction.
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Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill.
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It is the belief and not the god that counts.
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The essential fault of surrealism is that it invents without discovering. To make a clam play an accordion is to invent not to discover. The observation of the unconscious, so far as it can be observed, should reveal things of which we have previously been unconscious, not the familiar things of which we have been conscious plus imagination.
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As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
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The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real.
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I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.
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The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
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A diary is more or less the work of a man of clay whose hands are clumsy and in whose eyes there is no light.
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There may be always a time of innocence. There is never a place.
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The poet represents the mind in the act of defending us against itself.
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The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.
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You like it under the trees in autumn, because everything is half dead. The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves and repeats words without menaing.
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I measure myself Against a tall tree I find that I am much taller, For I reach right up to the sun With my eye And I reach to the shore of the sea With my ear. Nevertheless, I dislike The way the ants crawl In and out of my shadow.
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the windy sky Cries out a literate despair.
Wallace Stevens
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Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting.
Wallace Stevens