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The imperfect is our paradise. Note that, in this bitterness, delight, Since the imperfect is so hot in us, Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.
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
Words
Sounds
Delight
Stubborn
Notes
Flawed
Perfection
Bitterness
Lies
Note
Since
Imperfect
Lying
Paradise
Sound
Hot
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Life consists Of propositions about life. The human Revery is a solitude in which We compose these propositions, torn by dreams, By the terrible incantations of defeats And by the fear that the defeats and the dreams are one. The whole race is a poet that writes down The eccentric propositions of its fate.
Wallace Stevens
We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.
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I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.
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The point of vision and desire are the same.
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It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are.
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Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
We say God and the imagination are one... How high that highest candle lights the dark.
Wallace Stevens
Key West, unfortunately, is becoming rather literary and artistic.
Wallace Stevens
Tell X that speech is not dirty silence Clarified. It is silence made still dirtier.
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Life is not free from its forms.
Wallace Stevens
And what's above is in the past As sure as all the angels are.
Wallace Stevens
It was autumn and falling stars Covered the shrivelled forms Crouched in the moonlight.
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The poet represents the mind in the act of defending us against itself.
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Everything possessed the power to transform itself, or else, and what meant more, to be transformed.
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The figures of the past go cloaked. They walk in mist and rain and snow And go, go slowly, but they go.
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The exceeding brightness of this early sun Makes me conceive how dark I have become.
Wallace Stevens
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.
Wallace Stevens
It is the imagination pressing back against the pressure of reality. It seems, in the last analysis, to have something to do with our self-preservation and that, no doubt, is why the expression of it, the sound of its words, helps us to live our lives.
Wallace Stevens
Poetry is a means of redemption.
Wallace Stevens
