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I do not know which to prefer - The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after.
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
Silence
Blackbirds
Beauty
Innuendo
Sound
Whistling
Music
Prefer
Noise
Hearing
Quiet
Inflections
Listening
Blackbird
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
The imperfect is our paradise.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
Life is the elimination of what is dead.
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
The poet is the priest of the invisible.
Wallace Stevens
Thought tends to collect in pools.
Wallace Stevens
I was the world in which I walked.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
God is gracious to some very peculiar people.
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
The exceeding brightness of this early sun Makes me conceive how dark I have become.
Wallace Stevens
Poetry is a satifying of the desire for resemblance.
Wallace Stevens
Out of this same light, out of the central mind, We make a dwelling in the evening air, In which being there together is enough.
Wallace Stevens
The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound.
Wallace Stevens
I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.
Wallace Stevens
The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.
Wallace Stevens
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
Wallace Stevens
Anything is beautiful if you say it is.
Wallace Stevens
The poet's function is to make his imagination . . . become the light in the mind of others. His role, in short, is to help people to live their lives.
Wallace Stevens
A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
Wallace Stevens
