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I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.

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
Six
Nine
Certainly
Exist
Office

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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The yellow glistens. It glistens with various yellows, Citrons, oranges and greens Flowering over the skin.
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Next to love is the desire for love.
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Life is not free from its forms.
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The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real.
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The sea Severs not only lands but also selves.
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As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
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There's no such thing as life or if there is, It is faster than the weather, faster than Any character. It is more than any scene: Of the guillotine or of any glamorous hanging.
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The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it.
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To a large extent, the problems of poets are the problems of painters, and poets must often turn to the literature of painting for a discussion of their own problems.
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It is poverty's speech that seeks us out the most. It is older than the oldest speech of Rome. This is the tragic accent of the scene.
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If poetry should address itself to the same needs and aspirations, the same hopes and fears, to which the Bible addresses itself, it might rival it in distribution.
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Out of this same light, out of the central mind, We make a dwelling in the evening air, In which being there together is enough.
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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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One cannot spend one's time in being modern when there are so many more important things to be.
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The wind had seized the tree and ha, and ha, It held the shivering, the shaken limbs, Then bathed its body in the leaping lake.
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One must read poetry with one's nerves.
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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 was autumn and falling stars Covered the shrivelled forms Crouched in the moonlight.
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That tuft of jungle feathers, That animal eye, Is just what you say. That savage of fire, That seed, Have it your way. The world is ugly, And the people are sad.
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The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself.
Wallace Stevens