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A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.
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
Tables
Pear
Terms
Popped
Term
Pears
Come
Juice
Like
Served
Autumn
Warmth
Fatalist
Table
Ripened
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Thought tends to collect in pools.
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I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.
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A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
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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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The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.
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If ever the search for a tranquil belief should end, The future might stop emerging out of the past, Out of what is full of us yet the search And the future emerging out of us seem to be one.
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Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
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The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself.
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Life is not free from its forms.
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I was the world in which I walked.
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It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
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The imperfect is our paradise. Note that, in this bitterness, delight, Since the imperfect is so hot in us, Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.
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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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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.
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The greatest poverty is not to live In a physical world, to feel that one's desire Is too difficult to tell from despair.
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Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagines are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet.
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Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.
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The wind shifts like this: Like a human without illusions, Who still feels irrational things within her.
Wallace Stevens
