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Everything possessed the power to transform itself, or else, and what meant more, to be transformed.

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
Everything
Transform
Life
Possessed
Transformed
Meant
Birth
Growth
Else
Power
Rebirth

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The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world.
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Life's nonsense pierces us with strange relation.
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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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Above the forest of the parakeets, A parakeet of parakeets prevails, A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
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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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Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair. And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice
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Tell X that speech is not dirty silence Clarified. It is silence made still dirtier.
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Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
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Imagination applied to the whole world is vapid in comparison to imagination applied to a detail.
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Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
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One must read poetry with one's nerves.
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We say This changes and that changes. Thus the constant Violets, doves, girls, bees and hyacinths Are inconstant objects of inconstant cause In a universe of inconstancy.
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We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.
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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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God and the imagination are one.
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After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends.
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What is one man among so many men? What are so many men in such a world? Can one man think one thing and think it long? Can one man be one thing and be it long?
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In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.
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The exceeding brightness of this early sun Makes me conceive how dark I have become.
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God is gracious to some very peculiar people.
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