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A violent order is disorder and a great disorder is an order. These two things are one.
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
Disorder
Violent
Order
Two
Great
Things
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Key West, unfortunately, is becoming rather literary and artistic.
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Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches.
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I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
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Life consists Of propositions about life. The human Revery is a solitude in which We compose these propositions, torn by dreams, By the terrible incantations of defeats And by the fear that the defeats and the dreams are one. The whole race is a poet that writes down The eccentric propositions of its fate.
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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.
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The imagination is man's power over nature.
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It is the mind that is woven, the mind that was jerked And tufted in straggling thunder and shattered sun.
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The wind shifts like this: Like a human without illusions, Who still feels irrational things within her.
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Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
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The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real. When it adheres to the unreal and intensifies what is unreal, while its first effect may be extraordinary, that effect is the maximum effect that it will ever have.
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I do not know which to prefer - The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after.
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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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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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After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends.
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Man is an eternal sophomore.
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A poet's words are of things that do not exist without the words.
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Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
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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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Life is an affair of people not of places. But for me, life is an affair of places and that is the trouble.
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Metaphor creates a new reality from which the original appears to be unreal.
Wallace Stevens