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...after a night spent writing poetry, one is almost happy to hear the milkman at the door.

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
Door
Poetry
Doors
Hear
Almost
Happy
Night
Milkman
Writing
Spent

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.
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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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Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting.
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The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it.
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The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound.
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Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
Wallace Stevens
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We say God and the imagination are one... How high that highest candle lights the dark.
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In the same way, you were happy in spring, With the half colors of quarter-things, The slightly brighter sky, the melting clouds, The single bird, the obscure moon- The obscure moon lighting an obscure world Of thing that would never be quite expressed, Where you yourself were never quite yourself And did not want nor have to be.
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It's not always easy to tell the difference between thinking and looking out of the window.
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It is never the thing but the version of the thing.
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I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.
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The imagination is the power that enables us to perceive the normal in the abnormal, the opposite of chaos in chaos.
Wallace Stevens
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Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair. And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice
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.
Wallace Stevens
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The point of vision and desire are the same.
Wallace Stevens
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The exceeding brightness of this early sun Makes me conceive how dark I have become.
Wallace Stevens
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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.
Wallace Stevens
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The imperfect is our paradise.
Wallace Stevens
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Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right.
Wallace Stevens
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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.
Wallace Stevens