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There may be always a time of innocence. There is never a place.

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
May
Always
Never
Time
Innocence
Place

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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Unless we believe in the hero, what is there To believe? Incisive what, the fellow Of what good. Devise. Make him of mud.
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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.
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The fire burns as the novel taught it how.
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It is the sun that shares our works. The moon shares nothing. It is a sea.
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An old argument with me is that the true religious force in the world is not the church, but the world itself: the mysterious callings of Nature and our responses.
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The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.
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Imagination applied to the whole world is vapid in comparison to imagination applied to a detail.
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How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.
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It is never the thing but the version of the thing: The fragrance of the woman not her self, Her self in her manner not the solid block, The day in its color not perpending time, Time in its weather, our most sovereign lord, The weather in words and words in sounds of sound.
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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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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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Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.
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Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
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Beneath every no lays a passion for yes that had never been broken.
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Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
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The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.
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Money is a kind of poetry.
Wallace Stevens
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The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real. When it adheres to the unreal and intensifies what is unreal, while its first effect may be extraordinary, that effect is the maximum effect that it will ever have.
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I was the world in which I walked.
Wallace Stevens
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How red the rose that is the soldier
Wallace Stevens