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The reader became the book and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.

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
Night
Book
Like
Summer
Became
Conscious
Reader

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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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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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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Thus the theory of description matters most. It is the theory of the word for those For whom the word is the making of the world, The buzzing world and lisping firmament.
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The imagination is man's power over nature.
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In a world of universal poverty The philosophers alone will be fat Against the autumn winds In an autumn that will be perpetual.
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A violent order is disorder and a great disorder is an order. These two things are one.
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Imagination is the will of things. . . .
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Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.
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Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
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It's not always easy to tell the difference between thinking and looking out of the window.
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The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.
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It is time that beats in the breast and it is time That batters against the mind, silent and proud, The mind that knows it is destroyed by time.
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How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.
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As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
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It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem.
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People ought to like poetry the way a child likes snow & they would if poets wrote it.
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Above the forest of the parakeets, A parakeet of parakeets prevails, A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
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I am what is around me.
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The mind is smaller than the eye.
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New York is a field of tireless and antagonistic interests undoubtedly fascinating but horribly unreal. Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
Wallace Stevens