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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.
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
Heart
Runs
Mind
Pass
Time
Road
Horse
Listening
Rider
Running
Riders
Night
Hears
Without
Sits
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Music falls on the silence like a sense / A passion that we feel, not understand.
Wallace Stevens
The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world.
Wallace Stevens
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.
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The death of Satan was a tragedy For the imagination.
Wallace Stevens
I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.
Wallace Stevens
The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.
Wallace Stevens
The night Makes everything grotesque. Is it because Night is the nature of man's interior world?
Wallace Stevens
I can't make head or tail of Life. Love is a fine thing, Art is a fine thing, Nature is a fine thing but the average human mind and spirit are confusing beyond measure. Sometimes I think that all our learning is the little learning of the maxim. To laugh at a Roman awe-stricken in a sacred grove is to laugh at something today.
Wallace Stevens
The poem must resist the intelligence almost successfully.
Wallace Stevens
Realism is a corruption of reality.
Wallace Stevens
The reader became the book and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.
Wallace Stevens
Anything is beautiful if you say it is.
Wallace Stevens
Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
Wallace Stevens
Tinsel in February, tinsel in August. There are things in a man besides his reason.
Wallace Stevens
the windy sky Cries out a literate despair.
Wallace Stevens
The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real. When it adheres to the unreal and intensifies what is unreal, while its first effect may be extraordinary, that effect is the maximum effect that it will ever have.
Wallace Stevens
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair. And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice
Wallace Stevens
The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.
Wallace Stevens
