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The point of vision and desire are the same.

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
Vision
Point
Desire

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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How red the rose that is the soldier
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Money is a kind of poetry.
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The word is the making of the world
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I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill.
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The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks And far beyond the discords of the wind.
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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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One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow
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The wind had seized the tree and ha, and ha, It held the shivering, the shaken limbs, Then bathed its body in the leaping lake.
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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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There may be always a time of innocence. There is never a place.
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At evening casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
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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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Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
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The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.
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You like it under the trees in autumn, because everything is half dead. The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves and repeats words without menaing.
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A diary is more or less the work of a man of clay whose hands are clumsy and in whose eyes there is no light.
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Poetry is poetry, and one's objective as a poet is to achieve poetry precisely as one's objective in music is to achieve music.
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It is the belief and not the god that counts.
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It is the mind that is woven, the mind that was jerked And tufted in straggling thunder and shattered sun.
Wallace Stevens
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I was the world in which I walked.
Wallace Stevens