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Imagination...is the irrepressible revolutionist.

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
Revolutionist
Irrepressible
Imagination

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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All of our ideas come from the natural world: trees equal umbrellas.
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The chrysanthemums' astringent fragrance comes Each year to disguise the clanking mechanism Of machine within machine within machine.
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Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.
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True villains are extremely photogenic.
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Poetry is the scholar's art.
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This mangled, smutted semi-world hacked out Of dirt . . . It is not possible for the moon To blot this with its dove-winged blendings.
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What is one man among so many men? What are so many men in such a world? Can one man think one thing and think it long? Can one man be one thing and be it long?
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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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To a large extent, the problems of poets are the problems of painters, and poets must often turn to the literature of painting for a discussion of their own problems.
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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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It is poverty's speech that seeks us out the most. It is older than the oldest speech of Rome. This is the tragic accent of the scene.
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It was autumn and falling stars Covered the shrivelled forms Crouched in the moonlight.
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Next to love is the desire for love.
Wallace Stevens
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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.
Wallace Stevens
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The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
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We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession.
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The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.
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People ought to like poetry the way a child likes snow & they would if poets wrote it.
Wallace Stevens
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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
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Words of the world are the life of the world.
Wallace Stevens