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behold The approach of him whom none believes, Whom all believe that all believe, A pagan in a varnished car.

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
Car
None
Approach
Believe
Pagan
Behold
Believes

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Life's nonsense pierces us with strange relation.
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The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
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In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.
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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 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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The mind can never be satisfied.
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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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I have said no To everything, in order to get at myself. I have wiped away moonlight like mud.
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We say God and the imagination are one... How high that highest candle lights the dark.
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Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy wades through water, feeling with his toes for the bottom: The echoes are the bottom.
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At evening casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
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Man is an eternal sophomore.
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You like it under the trees in autumn, because everything is half dead. The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves and repeats words without menaing.
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At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
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If ever the search for a tranquil belief should end, The future might stop emerging out of the past, Out of what is full of us yet the search And the future emerging out of us seem to be one.
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Next to love is the desire for love.
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We say This changes and that changes. Thus the constant Violets, doves, girls, bees and hyacinths Are inconstant objects of inconstant cause In a universe of inconstancy.
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The point of vision and desire are the same.
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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.
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Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
Wallace Stevens