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Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.

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
Nature
Men
Hogs
Hog
Butterflies
Frogs
Snakes
Butterfly

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Already the new-born children interpret love In the voices of mothers.
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Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagines are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet.
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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.
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A poem need not have a meaning and like most things in nature often does not have.
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One ought not to hoard culture. It should be adapted and infused into society as a leaven. Liberality of culture does not mean illiberality of its benefits.
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Fat girl, terrestrial, my summer, my night, How is it I find you in difference, see you there In a moving contour, a change not quite completed? You are familiar yet an aberration.
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Poetry has to be something more than a conception of the mind. It has to be a revelation of nature. Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
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This mangled, smutted semi-world hacked out Of dirt . . . It is not possible for the moon To blot this with its dove-winged blendings.
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It is the mind that is woven, the mind that was jerked And tufted in straggling thunder and shattered sun.
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Death is the mother of Beauty hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.
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One cannot spend one's time in being modern when there are so many more important things to be.
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The greatest poverty is not to live In a physical world, to feel that one's desire Is too difficult to tell from despair.
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People ought to like poetry the way a child likes snow & they would if poets wrote it.
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Throw away the light, the definitions, and say what you see in the dark.
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Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
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Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
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For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
Wallace Stevens
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And what's above is in the past As sure as all the angels are.
Wallace Stevens
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The prologues are over. It is a question, now, Of final belief. So, say that final belief Must be in a fiction. It is time to choose.
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The fire burns as the novel taught it how.
Wallace Stevens