Quote

At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.

Wallace Stevens

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Wallace Stevens
Age: 75 †
Born: 1879
Born: October 2
Died: 1955
Died: August 2
Journalist
Lawyer
Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Writer
Would
Sharply
Flying
Cry
Bird
Sight
Green
Light
Even
Blackbirds

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

Image
For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
Wallace Stevens
Image
Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.
Wallace Stevens
Image
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
Image
Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.
Wallace Stevens
Image
It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are.
Wallace Stevens
Image
Tinsel in February, tinsel in August. There are things in a man besides his reason.
Wallace Stevens
Image
Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
Wallace Stevens
Image
The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.
Wallace Stevens
Image
People ought to like poetry the way a child likes snow & they would if poets wrote it.
Wallace Stevens
Image
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair. And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice
Wallace Stevens
Image
I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.
Wallace Stevens
Image
The mind is the terriblest force in the world, father, Because, in chief, it, only, can defend Against itself. At its mercy, we depend Upon it.
Wallace Stevens
Image
To name an object is to deprive a poem of three-fourths of its pleasure, which consists in a little-by-little guessing game the ideal is to suggest.
Wallace Stevens
Image
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.
Wallace Stevens
Image
One sparrow is worth a thousand gulls, When it sings. The gull sits on chimney-tops. He mocks the guinea, challenges The crow, inciting various modes. The sparrow requites one, without intent.
Wallace Stevens
Image
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
Image
The physical world is meaningless tonight And there is no other.
Wallace Stevens
Image
A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
Wallace Stevens
Image
The mind is the great poem of winter, the man, Who, to find what will suffice, Destroys romantic tenements Of rose and ice.
Wallace Stevens
Image
Imagination is the will of things. . . .
Wallace Stevens