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The world about us would be desolate except for the world within us.
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
Except
Within
Would
World
Desolate
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
How cold the vacancy When the phantoms are gone and the shaken realist First sees reality. The mortal no Has its emptiness and tragic expirations.
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The reader became the book and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.
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The night Makes everything grotesque. Is it because Night is the nature of man's interior world?
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The exceeding brightness of this early sun Makes me conceive how dark I have become.
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The mind is smaller than the eye.
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The imagination is the liberty of the mind It is intrpeid and eager and the extreme of its achievement lies in abstraction.
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Freedom is like a man who kills himself Each night, an incessant butcher, whose knife Grows sharp in blood.
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Words of the world are the life of the world.
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The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.
Wallace Stevens
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.
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The poet is the priest of the invisible.
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Everything is complicated if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.
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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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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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Anything is beautiful if you say it is.
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Already the new-born children interpret love In the voices of mothers.
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God is gracious to some very peculiar people.
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The poet represents the mind in the act of defending us against itself.
Wallace Stevens
All the great things have been denied and we live in an intricacy of new and local mythologies, political, economic, poetic, which are asserted with an ever-enlarging incoherence.
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The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.
Wallace Stevens
