Quote

Spread outward. Crack the round dome. Break through. Have liberty not as the air within a grave Or down a well. Breathe freedom, oh, my native, In the space of horizons that neither love nor hate.

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
Well
Air
Horizon
Love
Liberty
Graves
Dome
Break
Native
Domes
Within
Round
Horizons
Space
Rounds
Crack
Freedom
Breathe
Outward
Hate
Spread
Cracks
Wells
Neither
Grave

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If sex were all, then every trembling hand Could make us squeak, like dolls, the wished-for words.
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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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Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor.
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Poetry is a finikin thing of air That lives uncertainly and not for long Yet radiantly beyond much lustier blurs.
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One cannot spend one's time in being modern when there are so many more important things to be.
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A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
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Already the new-born children interpret love In the voices of mothers.
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At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
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The whole race is a poet that writes down / The eccentric propositions of its fate.
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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.
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One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow
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The grackles sing avant the spring Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly. They sing right puissantly.
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