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How has the human spirit ever survived the terrific literature with which it has had to contend?
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
Literature
Spirit
Ever
Human
Humans
Contend
Terrific
Survived
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Life is not free from its forms.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
Beneath every no lays a passion for yes that had never been broken.
Wallace Stevens
What is there in life except one's ideas, Good air, good friend, what is there in life?
Wallace Stevens
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
Wallace Stevens
Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.
Wallace Stevens
One's ignorance is one's chief asset.
Wallace Stevens
To live in the world but outside of existing conceptions of it.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates.
Wallace Stevens
Anything is beautiful if you say it is.
Wallace Stevens
The winter is made and you have to bear it, The winter web, the winter woven, wind and wind, For all the thoughts of summer that go with it In the mind, pupa of straw, moppet of rags.
Wallace Stevens
A poet's words are of things that do not exist without the words.
Wallace Stevens
It may be that the ignorant man, alone, Has any chance to mate his life with life That is the sensual, pearly spouse, the life That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.
Wallace Stevens
The point of vision and desire are the same.
Wallace Stevens
The heavy trees, The grunting, shuffling branches, the robust, The nocturnal, the antique, the blue-green pines Deepen the feelings to inhuman depths.
Wallace Stevens
It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem.
Wallace Stevens
Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
Wallace Stevens
The great poems of heaven and hell have been written and the great poem of earth remains to be written.
Wallace Stevens
The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself.
Wallace Stevens
