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The wind, Tempestuous clarion, with heavy cry, Came bluntly thundering, more terrible Than the revenge of music on bassoons.
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
Bluntly
Revenge
Heavy
Cry
Wind
Clarion
Terrible
Bassoon
Came
Tempestuous
Music
Thundering
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
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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It is necessary to any originality to have the courage to be an amateur.
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The subject matter... is not that collection of solid, static objects extended in space but the life that is lived in the scene that it composes.
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Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!
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After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends.
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The thinker as reader reads what has been written. He wears the words he reads to look upon Within his being.
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The reading of a poem should be an experience. Its writing must be all the more so.
Wallace Stevens
The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
Wallace Stevens
An old argument with me is that the true religious force in the world is not the church, but the world itself: the mysterious callings of Nature and our responses.
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Poetry is poetry, and one's objective as a poet is to achieve poetry precisely as one's objective in music is to achieve music.
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The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.
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Civilization must be destroyed. The hairy saints of the North have earned this crumb by their complaints.
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The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.
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That tuft of jungle feathers, That animal eye, Is just what you say. That savage of fire, That seed, Have it your way. The world is ugly, And the people are sad.
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Words of the world are the life of the world.
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Everything possessed the power to transform itself, or else, and what meant more, to be transformed.
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To name an object is to deprive a poem of three-fourths of its pleasure, which consists in a little-by-little guessing game the ideal is to suggest.
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It is never the thing but the version of the thing.
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Already the new-born children interpret love In the voices of mothers.
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A change of style is a change of meaning.
Wallace Stevens
