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Poetry is a finikin thing of air That lives uncertainly and not for long Yet radiantly beyond much lustier blurs.
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
Long
Blur
Air
Poet
Poetry
Beyond
Lives
Uncertainly
Thing
Radiantly
Much
Blurs
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Reality is not what it is. It consists of the many realities which it can be made into.
Wallace Stevens
I have said no To everything, in order to get at myself. I have wiped away moonlight like mud.
Wallace Stevens
Man is an eternal sophomore.
Wallace Stevens
Life is the elimination of what is dead.
Wallace Stevens
The grackles sing avant the spring Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly. They sing right puissantly.
Wallace Stevens
God and the imagination are one.
Wallace Stevens
In a world of universal poverty The philosophers alone will be fat Against the autumn winds In an autumn that will be perpetual.
Wallace Stevens
The reading of a poem should be an experience. Its writing must be all the more so.
Wallace Stevens
behold The approach of him whom none believes, Whom all believe that all believe, A pagan in a varnished car.
Wallace Stevens
Human nature is like water. It takes the shape of its container.
Wallace Stevens
Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
Wallace Stevens
The figures of the past go cloaked. They walk in mist and rain and snow And go, go slowly, but they go.
Wallace Stevens
Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
Wallace Stevens
It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.
Wallace Stevens
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
in the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.
Wallace Stevens
Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.
Wallace Stevens
As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
Wallace Stevens
The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
Wallace Stevens
Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
Wallace Stevens
