Quote

Union of the weakest develops strength not wisdom. Can all men, together, avenge one of the leaves that have fallen in autumn? But the wise man avenges by building his city in snow.

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
Wise
Snow
Wisdom
Unions
Avenges
Fall
Leaves
Avenge
Together
Weakness
Weakest
Men
City
Develops
Strength
Autumn
Building
Union
Cities
Fallen

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Soldier, there is a war between the mind And sky, between thought and day and night. It is For that the poet is always in the sun, Patches the moon together in his room To his Virgilian cadences, up down, Up down. It is a war that never ends.
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The wind shifts like this: Like a human without illusions, Who still feels irrational things within her.
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The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real. When it adheres to the unreal and intensifies what is unreal, while its first effect may be extraordinary, that effect is the maximum effect that it will ever have.
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We live in an old chaos of the sun.
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Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor.
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One ought not to hoard culture. It should be adapted and infused into society as a leaven. Liberality of culture does not mean illiberality of its benefits.
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All poetry is experimental poetry.
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Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.
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Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting.
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Two things of opposite natures seem to depend / One on another, as Logos depends / On Eros, day on night, the imagined On the real. / This is the origin of change.
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One's ignorance is one's chief asset.
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A diary is more or less the work of a man of clay whose hands are clumsy and in whose eyes there is no light.
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I was myself the compass of that sea: I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw Or heard or felt came not but from myself And there I found myself more truly and more strange.
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I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.
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It is necessary to any originality to have the courage to be an amateur.
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Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.
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Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
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I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.
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The thinker as reader reads what has been written. He wears the words he reads to look upon Within his being.
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All of our ideas come from the natural world: trees equal umbrellas.
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