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The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks And far beyond the discords of the wind.

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
Wind
Gander
Soul
Discords
Swans
Discord
Flies
Parks
Flight
Beyond

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Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in the falling snow Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights All pleasures and all pains, remembering The boughs of summer and the winter branch. These are the measures destined for her soul.
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We say God and the imagination are one... How high that highest candle lights the dark.
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God is in me or else is not at all.
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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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I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.
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As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
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Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches.
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The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world.
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The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.
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The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real.
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The great poems of heaven and hell have been written and the great poem of earth remains to be written.
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Everything is complicated if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.
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The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.
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