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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

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It gives a man character as a poet to have a daily contact with a job. I doubt whether I've lost a thing by leading an exceedingly regular and disciplined life.
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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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Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right.
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How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.
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How has the human spirit ever survived the terrific literature with which it has had to contend?
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Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.
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How red the rose that is the soldier
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A languid janitor bears His lantern through colonnades And the architecture swoons.
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Imagination is the power of the mind over the possibilities of things.
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Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.
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The winter is made and you have to bear it, The winter web, the winter woven, wind and wind, For all the thoughts of summer that go with it In the mind, pupa of straw, moppet of rags.
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I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill.
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Words of the world are the life of the world.
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The reader became the book and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.
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At evening casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
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Unless we believe in the hero, what is there To believe? Incisive what, the fellow Of what good. Devise. Make him of mud.
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The world about us would be desolate except for the world within us.
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Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.
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What's down below is in the past Like last night's crickets, far below.
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There's no such thing as life or if there is, It is faster than the weather, faster than Any character. It is more than any scene: Of the guillotine or of any glamorous hanging.
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