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Of what is real I say, Is it the old, the roseate parent or The bride come jingling, kissed and cupped, or else The spirit and all ensigns of the self?

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
Self
Brides
Real
Kissed
Realism
Parent
Spirit
Else
Jingling
Reality
Cupped
Come
Bride

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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Imagination is the will of things. . . .
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It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place, It has to face the man of the time.
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in the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.
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It is the mind that is woven, the mind that was jerked And tufted in straggling thunder and shattered sun.
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If poetry should address itself to the same needs and aspirations, the same hopes and fears, to which the Bible addresses itself, it might rival it in distribution.
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Day after day, throughout the winter, We hardened ourselves to live by bluest reason In a world of wind and frost.
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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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It is the imagination pressing back against the pressure of reality. It seems, in the last analysis, to have something to do with our self-preservation and that, no doubt, is why the expression of it, the sound of its words, helps us to live our lives.
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The whole race is a poet that writes down / The eccentric propositions of its fate.
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The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
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Poetry is a means of redemption.
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To live in the world but outside of existing conceptions of it.
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Thought is an infection. In the case of certain thoughts, it becomes an epidemic.
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It is the belief and not the god that counts.
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At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
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Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
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Disillusion is the last illusion.
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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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It is poverty's speech that seeks us out the most. It is older than the oldest speech of Rome. This is the tragic accent of the scene.
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It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
Wallace Stevens