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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
Find
Tenements
Great
Suffice
Mind
Destroys
Men
Ice
Poem
Romantic
Winter
Rose
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
It is the belief and not the god that counts.
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If poetry should address itself to the same needs and aspirations, the same hopes and fears, to which the Bible addresses itself, it might rival it in distribution.
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As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
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Poetry is a means of redemption.
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in the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.
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The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
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I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
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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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Next to love is the desire for love.
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The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
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After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.
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Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.
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The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.
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Unless we believe in the hero, what is there To believe? Incisive what, the fellow Of what good. Devise. Make him of mud.
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It's not always easy to tell the difference between thinking and looking out of the window.
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Perhaps there is a degree of perception at which what is real and what is imagines are one: a state of clairvoyant observation, accessible or possibly accessible to the poet or, say, the acutest poet.
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