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Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.

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
Sounds
Fingers
Keys
Sound
Spirit
Music
Self
Make

More quotes by Wallace Stevens

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Of the Surface of Things In my room, the world is beyond my understanding But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four Hills and a cloud.
Wallace Stevens
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A languid janitor bears His lantern through colonnades And the architecture swoons.
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To regard the imagination as metaphysics is to think of it as part of life, and to think of it as part of life is to realize the extent of artifice. We live in the mind.
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As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
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The poet represents the mind in the act of defending us against itself.
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Poetry is the scholar's art.
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After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends.
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The muddy rivers of spring Are snarling Under the muddy skies. The mind is muddy.
Wallace Stevens
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Death is the mother of Beauty hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.
Wallace Stevens
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Money is a kind of poetry.
Wallace Stevens
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It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.
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We say God and the imagination are one... How high that highest candle lights the dark.
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Day after day, throughout the winter, We hardened ourselves to live by bluest reason In a world of wind and frost.
Wallace Stevens
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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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It gives a man character as a poet to have a daily contact with a job. I doubt whether I've lost a thing by leading an exceedingly regular and disciplined life.
Wallace Stevens
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Anything is beautiful if you say it is.
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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Disillusion is the last illusion.
Wallace Stevens
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Make the visible a little hard to see.
Wallace Stevens
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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.
Wallace Stevens