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What is there in life except one's ideas, Good air, good friend, what is there in life?

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
Except
Friend
Ideas
Good
Life
Air

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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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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Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
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in the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.
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Throw away the light, the definitions, and say what you see in the dark.
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Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.
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The yellow glistens. It glistens with various yellows, Citrons, oranges and greens Flowering over the skin.
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That tuft of jungle feathers, That animal eye, Is just what you say. That savage of fire, That seed, Have it your way. The world is ugly, And the people are sad.
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The poem must resist the intelligence almost successfully.
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The muddy rivers of spring Are snarling Under the muddy skies. The mind is muddy.
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It may be that the ignorant man, alone, Has any chance to mate his life with life That is the sensual, pearly spouse, the life That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.
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Key West, unfortunately, is becoming rather literary and artistic.
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Accuracy of observation is the equivalent of accuracy of thinking.
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The genuine artist is never 'true to life.' He sees what is real, but not as we are normally aware of it. We do not go storming through life like actors in a play. Art is never real life.
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God is gracious to some very peculiar people.
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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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Above the forest of the parakeets, A parakeet of parakeets prevails, A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
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Next to love is the desire for love.
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Life is the elimination of what is dead.
Wallace Stevens
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Spread outward. Crack the round dome. Break through. Have liberty not as the air within a grave Or down a well. Breathe freedom, oh, my native, In the space of horizons that neither love nor hate.
Wallace Stevens
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Compare the silent rose of the sun And rain, the blood-rose living in its smell, With this paper, this dust. That states the point.
Wallace Stevens