Quote

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.

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
Night
Hears
Without
Sits
Heart
Runs
Mind
Pass
Time
Road
Horse
Listening
Rider
Running
Riders

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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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An old argument with me is that the true religious force in the world is not the church, but the world itself: the mysterious callings of Nature and our responses.
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Two things of opposite natures seem to depend / One on another, as Logos depends / On Eros, day on night, the imagined On the real. / This is the origin of change.
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The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
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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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Accuracy of observation is the equivalent of accuracy of thinking.
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Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
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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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The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.
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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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We live in an old chaos of the sun.
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Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.
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I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
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Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right.
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The reading of a poem should be an experience. Its writing must be all the more so.
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Thought tends to collect in pools.
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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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