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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
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Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
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Tenements
Great
Suffice
Mind
Destroys
Men
Ice
Poem
Romantic
Winter
Rose
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting.
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After one has abandoned a belief in God, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption.
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The exceeding brightness of this early sun Makes me conceive how dark I have become.
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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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Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
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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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The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
Wallace Stevens
Revolution Is the affair of logical lunatics.
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The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
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We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession.
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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.
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Metaphor creates a new reality from which the original appears to be unreal.
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Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates. It is of the nature of that in which it is found, whether the poem, the manner of a god, the bearing of a man. It is not a dress.
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If ever the search for a tranquil belief should end, The future might stop emerging out of the past, Out of what is full of us yet the search And the future emerging out of us seem to be one.
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A change of style is a change of meaning.
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For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
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Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.
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Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.
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How cold the vacancy When the phantoms are gone and the shaken realist First sees reality. The mortal no Has its emptiness and tragic expirations.
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On a few words of what is real in the world I nourish myself. I defend myself against Whatever remains.
Wallace Stevens
