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The winter is made and you have to bear it, The winter web, the winter woven, wind and wind, For all the thoughts of summer that go with it In the mind, pupa of straw, moppet of rags.
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
Summer
Bears
Thoughts
Straw
Wind
Straws
Made
Rags
Mind
Woven
Winter
Bear
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
It is the sun that shares our works. The moon shares nothing. It is a sea.
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Human nature is like water. It takes the shape of its container.
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Words of the world are the life of the world.
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Poetry is a satifying of the desire for resemblance.
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I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.
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New York is a field of tireless and antagonistic interests undoubtedly fascinating but horribly unreal. Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
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If sex were all, then every trembling hand Could make us squeak, like dolls, the wished-for words.
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All the great things have been denied and we live in an intricacy of new and local mythologies, political, economic, poetic, which are asserted with an ever-enlarging incoherence.
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The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.
Wallace Stevens
The muddy rivers of spring Are snarling Under the muddy skies. The mind is muddy.
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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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The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.
Wallace Stevens
Life is an affair of people not of places. But for me, life is an affair of places and that is the trouble.
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Accuracy of observation is the equivalent of accuracy of thinking.
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Life is the elimination of what is dead.
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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.
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It is the sea that whitens the roof. The sea drifts through the winter air. It is the sea that the north wind makes. The sea is in the falling snow.
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After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends.
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What's down below is in the past Like last night's crickets, far below.
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The poet's function is to make his imagination . . . become the light in the mind of others. His role, in short, is to help people to live their lives.
Wallace Stevens