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I was the world in which I walked.

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
Hiking
Walked
Wander
Walking
Journey
Walks
Sauntering
World
Trekking
Strolling

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The mind can never be satisfied.
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The chrysanthemums' astringent fragrance comes Each year to disguise the clanking mechanism Of machine within machine within machine.
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Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting.
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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.
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behold The approach of him whom none believes, Whom all believe that all believe, A pagan in a varnished car.
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It gives a man character as a poet to have a daily contact with a job. I doubt whether I've lost a thing by leading an exceedingly regular and disciplined life.
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The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
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The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.
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Poetry is a satifying of the desire for resemblance.
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Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.
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Thought tends to collect in pools.
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The imagination is the power that enables us to perceive the normal in the abnormal, the opposite of chaos in chaos.
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It's not always easy to tell the difference between thinking and looking out of the window.
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The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
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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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Thus the theory of description matters most. It is the theory of the word for those For whom the word is the making of the world, The buzzing world and lisping firmament.
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I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.
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The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks And far beyond the discords of the wind.
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I measure myself Against a tall tree I find that I am much taller, For I reach right up to the sun With my eye And I reach to the shore of the sea With my ear. Nevertheless, I dislike The way the ants crawl In and out of my shadow.
Wallace Stevens
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I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
Wallace Stevens