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Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates. It is of the nature of that in which it is found, whether the poem, the manner of a god, the bearing of a man. It is not a dress.
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
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Style
Bearing
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Something
Dress
Men
Dresses
God
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Permeates
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.
Wallace Stevens
A languid janitor bears His lantern through colonnades And the architecture swoons.
Wallace Stevens
Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
Wallace Stevens
Everything possessed the power to transform itself, or else, and what meant more, to be transformed.
Wallace Stevens
I was the world in which I walked.
Wallace Stevens
I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
Wallace Stevens
behold The approach of him whom none believes, Whom all believe that all believe, A pagan in a varnished car.
Wallace Stevens
We live in an old chaos of the sun.
Wallace Stevens
Imagination is the will of things. . . .
Wallace Stevens
I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill.
Wallace Stevens
Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in the falling snow Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights All pleasures and all pains, remembering The boughs of summer and the winter branch. These are the measures destined for her soul.
Wallace Stevens
We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.
Wallace Stevens
Above the forest of the parakeets, A parakeet of parakeets prevails, A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
Wallace Stevens
And what's above is in the past As sure as all the angels are.
Wallace Stevens
The grackles sing avant the spring Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly. They sing right puissantly.
Wallace Stevens
After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.
Wallace Stevens
The imagination is man's power over nature.
Wallace Stevens
The death of Satan was a tragedy For the imagination.
Wallace Stevens
It is the mind that is woven, the mind that was jerked And tufted in straggling thunder and shattered sun.
Wallace Stevens
Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting.
Wallace Stevens
