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Above the forest of the parakeets, A parakeet of parakeets prevails, A pip of life amid a mort of tails.
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
Prevails
Amid
Tails
Forest
Forests
Life
Parakeet
Parakeets
Mort
More quotes by Wallace Stevens
Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting.
Wallace Stevens
It is time that beats in the breast and it is time That batters against the mind, silent and proud, The mind that knows it is destroyed by time.
Wallace Stevens
It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.
Wallace Stevens
Poetry is a satifying of the desire for resemblance.
Wallace Stevens
The night Makes everything grotesque. Is it because Night is the nature of man's interior world?
Wallace Stevens
We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession.
Wallace Stevens
The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
Wallace Stevens
I can't make head or tail of Life. Love is a fine thing, Art is a fine thing, Nature is a fine thing but the average human mind and spirit are confusing beyond measure. Sometimes I think that all our learning is the little learning of the maxim. To laugh at a Roman awe-stricken in a sacred grove is to laugh at something today.
Wallace Stevens
I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.
Wallace Stevens
The yellow glistens. It glistens with various yellows, Citrons, oranges and greens Flowering over the skin.
Wallace Stevens
Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.
Wallace Stevens
The thinker as reader reads what has been written. He wears the words he reads to look upon Within his being.
Wallace Stevens
One cannot spend one's time in being modern when there are so many more important things to be.
Wallace Stevens
All the great things have been denied and we live in an intricacy of new and local mythologies, political, economic, poetic, which are asserted with an ever-enlarging incoherence.
Wallace Stevens
Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
Wallace Stevens
Soldier, there is a war between the mind And sky, between thought and day and night. It is For that the poet is always in the sun, Patches the moon together in his room To his Virgilian cadences, up down, Up down. It is a war that never ends.
Wallace Stevens
The death of Satan was a tragedy For the imagination.
Wallace Stevens
One's ignorance is one's chief asset.
Wallace Stevens
Life's nonsense pierces us with strange relation.
Wallace Stevens
Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
Wallace Stevens
