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The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world.

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
Cause
Imagination
Causes
Reality
World
Realism
Imagined
Magnificent

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Poetry is the statement of a relation between a man and the world
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It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.
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True villains are extremely photogenic.
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I am one of you and being one of you is being and knowing what I am and know. Yet I am the necessary Angel of earth, since, in my sight, you see the earth again.
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The imagination is one of the forces of nature.
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Imagination is the will of things. . . .
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After one has abandoned a belief in God, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption.
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One sparrow is worth a thousand gulls, When it sings. The gull sits on chimney-tops. He mocks the guinea, challenges The crow, inciting various modes. The sparrow requites one, without intent.
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The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real.
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It was autumn and falling stars Covered the shrivelled forms Crouched in the moonlight.
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Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
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As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
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The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.
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The wind had seized the tree and ha, and ha, It held the shivering, the shaken limbs, Then bathed its body in the leaping lake.
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On a few words of what is real in the world I nourish myself. I defend myself against Whatever remains.
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A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
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At evening casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
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The heavy trees, The grunting, shuffling branches, the robust, The nocturnal, the antique, the blue-green pines Deepen the feelings to inhuman depths.
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The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.
Wallace Stevens
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Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches.
Wallace Stevens