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Revolution Is the affair of logical lunatics.

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
Lunatics
Logical
Affair
Revolution

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one's meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.
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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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If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.
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Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
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The chrysanthemums' astringent fragrance comes Each year to disguise the clanking mechanism Of machine within machine within machine.
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One ought not to hoard culture. It should be adapted and infused into society as a leaven. Liberality of culture does not mean illiberality of its benefits.
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I was myself the compass of that sea: I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw Or heard or felt came not but from myself And there I found myself more truly and more strange.
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A poem need not have a meaning and like most things in nature often does not have.
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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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Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor.
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Human nature is like water. It takes the shape of its container.
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God is gracious to some very peculiar people.
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Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy wades through water, feeling with his toes for the bottom: The echoes are the bottom.
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It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.
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The figures of the past go cloaked. They walk in mist and rain and snow And go, go slowly, but they go.
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Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches.
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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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After a lustre of the moon, we say We have not the need of any paradise, We have not the need of any seducing hymn.
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Next to love is the desire for love.
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Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.
Wallace Stevens