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I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.

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
Moments
Reality
Angel
Door
Standing
Doors
Seen
Moment

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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The figures of the past go cloaked. They walk in mist and rain and snow And go, go slowly, but they go.
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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.
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If ever the search for a tranquil belief should end, The future might stop emerging out of the past, Out of what is full of us yet the search And the future emerging out of us seem to be one.
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What's down below is in the past Like last night's crickets, far below.
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God and the imagination are one.
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Tinsel in February, tinsel in August. There are things in a man besides his reason.
Wallace Stevens
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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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In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.
Wallace Stevens
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Compare the silent rose of the sun And rain, the blood-rose living in its smell, With this paper, this dust. That states the point.
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I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.
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True villains are extremely photogenic.
Wallace Stevens
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After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.
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The imagination is man's power over nature.
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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 was the world in which I walked.
Wallace Stevens
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What is there in life except one's ideas, Good air, good friend, what is there in life?
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Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.
Wallace Stevens
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The poet is the priest of the invisible.
Wallace Stevens
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Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches.
Wallace Stevens
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Throw away the light, the definitions, and say what you see in the dark.
Wallace Stevens