Quote

The mind is the great poem of winter, the man, Who, to find what will suffice, Destroys romantic tenements Of rose and ice.

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
Men
Ice
Poem
Romantic
Winter
Rose
Find
Tenements
Great
Suffice
Mind
Destroys

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The wind shifts like this: Like a human without illusions, Who still feels irrational things within her.
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Day after day, throughout the winter, We hardened ourselves to live by bluest reason In a world of wind and frost.
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We live in an old chaos of the sun.
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To lose sensibility, to see what one sees, As if sight had not its own miraculous thrift, To hear only what one hears, one meaning alone, As if the paradise of meaning ceased To be paradise, it is this to be destitute.
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The grackles sing avant the spring Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly. They sing right puissantly.
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There's no such thing as life or if there is, It is faster than the weather, faster than Any character. It is more than any scene: Of the guillotine or of any glamorous hanging.
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Disillusion is the last illusion.
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They said, 'You have a blue guitar, / You do not play things as they are.' / The man replied, 'Things as they are / Are changed upon the blue guitar.'
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...after a night spent writing poetry, one is almost happy to hear the milkman at the door.
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Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.
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I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.
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Funest philosophers and ponderers, Their evocations are the speech of clouds.
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Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.
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A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
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Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
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