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Imagination is the will of things. . . .

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
Imagination
Things

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Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
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God is gracious to some very peculiar people.
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If the hero is not a person, the emblem Of him, even if Xenophon, seems To stand taller than a person stands, has A wider brow, large and less human Eyes and bruted ears: the man-like body Of a primitive.
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Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
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Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
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The muddy rivers of spring Are snarling Under the muddy skies. The mind is muddy.
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What is there in life except one's ideas, Good air, good friend, what is there in life?
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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.
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Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.
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Life's nonsense pierces us with strange relation.
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Music falls on the silence like a sense / A passion that we feel, not understand.
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The sea Severs not only lands but also selves.
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Thus the theory of description matters most. It is the theory of the word for those For whom the word is the making of the world, The buzzing world and lisping firmament.
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The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.
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It is the sun that shares our works. The moon shares nothing. It is a sea.
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I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.
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I measure myself Against a tall tree I find that I am much taller, For I reach right up to the sun With my eye And I reach to the shore of the sea With my ear. Nevertheless, I dislike The way the ants crawl In and out of my shadow.
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True villains are extremely photogenic.
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The reader became the book and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.
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Words of the world are the life of the world.
Wallace Stevens