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The muddy rivers of spring Are snarling Under the muddy skies. The mind is muddy.
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
Spring
Mind
Snarling
Muddy
Skies
Mud
Rivers
Sky
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
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I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.
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God is in me or else is not at all.
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Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill.
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The imagination is the power that enables us to perceive the normal in the abnormal, the opposite of chaos in chaos.
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Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
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Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!
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The physical world is meaningless tonight And there is no other.
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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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The sea Severs not only lands but also selves.
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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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It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
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After a lustre of the moon, we say We have not the need of any paradise, We have not the need of any seducing hymn.
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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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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.
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Poetry is the scholar's art.
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Union of the weakest develops strength not wisdom. Can all men, together, avenge one of the leaves that have fallen in autumn? But the wise man avenges by building his city in snow.
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behold The approach of him whom none believes, Whom all believe that all believe, A pagan in a varnished car.
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All of our ideas come from the natural world: trees equal umbrellas.
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To name an object is to deprive a poem of three-fourths of its pleasure, which consists in a little-by-little guessing game the ideal is to suggest.
Wallace Stevens
