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The prologues are over. It is a question, now, Of final belief. So, say that final belief Must be in a fiction. It is time to choose.

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
Time
Prologue
Final
Finals
Choose
Fiction
Question
Belief
Must

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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The mind is smaller than the eye.
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The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.
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in the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.
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It is necessary to any originality to have the courage to be an amateur.
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The world about us would be desolate except for the world within us.
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To live in the world but outside of existing conceptions of it.
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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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The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
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Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.
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Poetry is the scholar's art.
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The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
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There may be always a time of innocence. There is never a place.
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Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
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How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.
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That tuft of jungle feathers, That animal eye, Is just what you say. That savage of fire, That seed, Have it your way. The world is ugly, And the people are sad.
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Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor.
Wallace Stevens
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The mind is the terriblest force in the world, father, Because, in chief, it, only, can defend Against itself. At its mercy, we depend Upon it.
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Poetry has to be something more than a conception of the mind. It has to be a revelation of nature. Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.
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Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
Wallace Stevens
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Music falls on the silence like a sense / A passion that we feel, not understand.
Wallace Stevens