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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
Exist
Office
Six
Nine
Certainly

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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Of the Surface of Things In my room, the world is beyond my understanding But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four Hills and a cloud.
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It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem.
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God is in me or else is not at all.
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Poetry is the scholar's art.
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Day after day, throughout the winter, We hardened ourselves to live by bluest reason In a world of wind and frost.
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The fire burns as the novel taught it how.
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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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Funest philosophers and ponderers, Their evocations are the speech of clouds.
Wallace Stevens
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The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it.
Wallace Stevens
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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
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The grackles sing avant the spring Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly. They sing right puissantly.
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You know that the nucleus of a time is not The poet but the poem, the growth of the mind Of the world, the heroic effort to live expressed As victory. The poet does not speak in ruins Nor stand there making orotund consolations. He shares the confusions of intelligence.
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Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.
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The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.
Wallace Stevens
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Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
Wallace Stevens
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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
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It was autumn and falling stars Covered the shrivelled forms Crouched in the moonlight.
Wallace Stevens
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The death of Satan was a tragedy For the imagination.
Wallace Stevens
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Man is an eternal sophomore.
Wallace Stevens
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If the hero is not a person, the emblem Of him, even if Xenophon, seems To stand taller than a person stands, has A wider brow, large and less human Eyes and bruted ears: the man-like body Of a primitive.
Wallace Stevens