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A languid janitor bears His lantern through colonnades And the architecture swoons.

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
Languid
Lantern
Janitor
Lanterns
Architecture
Bears

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One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow
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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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If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.
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Throw away the light, the definitions, and say what you see in the dark.
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It is necessary to any originality to have the courage to be an amateur.
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Unfortunately there is nothing more inane than an Easter carol. It is a religious perversion of the activity of Spring in our blood.
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The imperfect is our paradise. Note that, in this bitterness, delight, Since the imperfect is so hot in us, Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.
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The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
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I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.
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Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
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Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.
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Imagination is the power of the mind over the possibilities of things.
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Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.
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I am what is around me.
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The wind had seized the tree and ha, and ha, It held the shivering, the shaken limbs, Then bathed its body in the leaping lake.
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Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
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The poet represents the mind in the act of defending us against itself.
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On a few words of what is real in the world I nourish myself. I defend myself against Whatever remains.
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The fire burns as the novel taught it how.
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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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