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Freedom is like a man who kills himself Each night, an incessant butcher, whose knife Grows sharp in blood.
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
Blood
Butchers
Grows
Incessant
Freedom
Knife
Night
Kills
Men
Knives
Like
Sharp
Suicide
Whose
Butcher
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
Civilization must be destroyed. The hairy saints of the North have earned this crumb by their complaints.
Wallace Stevens
We say This changes and that changes. Thus the constant Violets, doves, girls, bees and hyacinths Are inconstant objects of inconstant cause In a universe of inconstancy.
Wallace Stevens
Tinsel in February, tinsel in August. There are things in a man besides his reason.
Wallace Stevens
You know that the nucleus of a time is not The poet but the poem, the growth of the mind Of the world, the heroic effort to live expressed As victory. The poet does not speak in ruins Nor stand there making orotund consolations. He shares the confusions of intelligence.
Wallace Stevens
Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
Wallace Stevens
The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.
Wallace Stevens
Revolution Is the affair of logical lunatics.
Wallace Stevens
The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.
Wallace Stevens
It may be that the ignorant man, alone, Has any chance to mate his life with life That is the sensual, pearly spouse, the life That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.
Wallace Stevens
Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.
Wallace Stevens
Of the Surface of Things In my room, the world is beyond my understanding But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four Hills and a cloud.
Wallace Stevens
The muddy rivers of spring Are snarling Under the muddy skies. The mind is muddy.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
It is never the thing but the version of the thing.
Wallace Stevens
