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Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches.

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
Beaches
Florida
Beach
Neither
Spring

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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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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Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
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The world about us would be desolate except for the world within us.
Wallace Stevens
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The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.
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The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself.
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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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Fat girl, terrestrial, my summer, my night, How is it I find you in difference, see you there In a moving contour, a change not quite completed? You are familiar yet an aberration.
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Next to love is the desire for love.
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Words of the world are the life of the world.
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Imagination applied to the whole world is vapid in comparison to imagination applied to a detail.
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It is the sea that whitens the roof. The sea drifts through the winter air. It is the sea that the north wind makes. The sea is in the falling snow.
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We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.
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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 poem must resist the intelligence almost successfully.
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Cold is our element and winter's air Brings voices as of lions coming down.
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Most poets who have little or nothing to say are concerned primarily with the way in which they say it ... if it is true that the style of a poem and the poem itself are one, ... it may be ... that the poets who have little or nothing to say are, or will be, the poets that matter.
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I was the world in which I walked.
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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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I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.
Wallace Stevens
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The yellow glistens. It glistens with various yellows, Citrons, oranges and greens Flowering over the skin.
Wallace Stevens