Quote

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.

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
Body
Ears
Emblems
Persons
Large
Taller
Person
Hero
Brow
Human
Stand
Heroines
Humans
Eyes
Brows
Even
Eye
Wider
Men
Less
Primitive
Like
Seems
Stands
Emblem

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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The poet represents the mind in the act of defending us against itself.
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How cold the vacancy When the phantoms are gone and the shaken realist First sees reality. The mortal no Has its emptiness and tragic expirations.
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Thought is an infection. In the case of certain thoughts, it becomes an epidemic.
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A diary is more or less the work of a man of clay whose hands are clumsy and in whose eyes there is no light.
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Human nature is like water. It takes the shape of its container.
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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
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The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
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The mind can never be satisfied.
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Freedom is like a man who kills himself Each night, an incessant butcher, whose knife Grows sharp in blood.
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There may be always a time of innocence. There is never a place.
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I have said no To everything, in order to get at myself. I have wiped away moonlight like mud.
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Realism is a corruption of reality.
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I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.
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Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
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The mind is the terriblest force in the world, father, Because, in chief, it, only, can defend Against itself. At its mercy, we depend Upon it.
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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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Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.
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The thinker as reader reads what has been written. He wears the words he reads to look upon Within his being.
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The mind is the great poem of winter, the man, Who, to find what will suffice, Destroys romantic tenements Of rose and ice.
Wallace Stevens
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I was the world in which I walked.
Wallace Stevens