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At evening casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

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
Make
Ambiguous
Extended
Sink
Casual
Evening
Wings
Downward
Darkness
Pigeons
Poetry
Flocks

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The imagination is one of the forces of nature.
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Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.
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The death of Satan was a tragedy For the imagination.
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Key West, unfortunately, is becoming rather literary and artistic.
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The consolations of space are nameless things. It was after the neurosis of winter. It was In the genius of summer that they blew up The statue of Jove among the boomy clouds. It took all day to quieten the sky And then to refill its emptiness again.
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I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.
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The essential fault of surrealism is that it invents without discovering. To make a clam play an accordion is to invent not to discover. The observation of the unconscious, so far as it can be observed, should reveal things of which we have previously been unconscious, not the familiar things of which we have been conscious plus imagination.
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Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.
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The world about us would be desolate except for the world within us.
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They said, 'You have a blue guitar, / You do not play things as they are.' / The man replied, 'Things as they are / Are changed upon the blue guitar.'
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To regard the imagination as metaphysics is to think of it as part of life, and to think of it as part of life is to realize the extent of artifice. We live in the mind.
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The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.
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Funest philosophers and ponderers, Their evocations are the speech of clouds.
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Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor.
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God is in me or else is not at all.
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It is necessary to any originality to have the courage to be an amateur.
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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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Life is not free from its forms.
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I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
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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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