Share
×
Inspirational Quotes
Authors
Professions
Topics
Tags
Quote
I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
Wallace Stevens
Share
Change background
T
T
T
Change font
Original
TAGS & TOPICS
Wallace Stevens
Age: 75 †
Born: 1879
Born: October 2
Died: 1955
Died: August 2
Journalist
Lawyer
Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Writer
Needs
Imperishable
Bliss
Stills
Still
Need
Feel
Feels
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.
Wallace Stevens
Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.
Wallace Stevens
The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world.
Wallace Stevens
Imagination...is the irrepressible revolutionist.
Wallace Stevens
An old argument with me is that the true religious force in the world is not the church, but the world itself: the mysterious callings of Nature and our responses.
Wallace Stevens
The imagination is the power that enables us to perceive the normal in the abnormal, the opposite of chaos in chaos.
Wallace Stevens
Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.
Wallace Stevens
Money is a kind of poetry.
Wallace Stevens
Everything possessed the power to transform itself, or else, and what meant more, to be transformed.
Wallace Stevens
The great poems of heaven and hell have been written and the great poem of earth remains to be written.
Wallace Stevens
We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.
Wallace Stevens
The sea Severs not only lands but also selves.
Wallace Stevens
How red the rose that is the soldier
Wallace Stevens
Tell X that speech is not dirty silence Clarified. It is silence made still dirtier.
Wallace Stevens
Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
Wallace Stevens
Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
Wallace Stevens
Key West, unfortunately, is becoming rather literary and artistic.
Wallace Stevens
the windy sky Cries out a literate despair.
Wallace Stevens
The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
Wallace Stevens
The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.
Wallace Stevens