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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
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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
Return
Imagination
Savoir
Fall
Inert
Sense
Inanimate
Ends
Autumn
Come
Plain
Things
Fallen
Leaves
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
The sea Severs not only lands but also selves.
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Of what is real I say, Is it the old, the roseate parent or The bride come jingling, kissed and cupped, or else The spirit and all ensigns of the self?
Wallace Stevens
Money is a kind of poetry.
Wallace Stevens
Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
Wallace Stevens
The poet represents the mind in the act of defending us against itself.
Wallace Stevens
The grackles sing avant the spring Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly. They sing right puissantly.
Wallace Stevens
The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.
Wallace Stevens
Anything is beautiful if you say it is.
Wallace Stevens
One sparrow is worth a thousand gulls, When it sings. The gull sits on chimney-tops. He mocks the guinea, challenges The crow, inciting various modes. The sparrow requites one, without intent.
Wallace Stevens
It is the sea that whitens the roof. The sea drifts through the winter air. It is the sea that the north wind makes. The sea is in the falling snow.
Wallace Stevens
It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem.
Wallace Stevens
If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.
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
What is there in life except one's ideas, Good air, good friend, what is there in life?
Wallace Stevens
The world about us would be desolate except for the world within us.
Wallace Stevens
The genuine artist is never 'true to life.' He sees what is real, but not as we are normally aware of it. We do not go storming through life like actors in a play. Art is never real life.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
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
Above the forest of the parakeets, A parakeet of parakeets prevails, A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
Wallace Stevens
The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.
Wallace Stevens
