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It is not fair to be old, to put on a brown sweater.
William Carlos Williams
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William Carlos Williams
Age: 79 †
Born: 1883
Born: September 17
Died: 1963
Died: March 4
Autobiographer
Literary Critic
Physician
Physician Writer
Poet
Writer
Sweater
Sweaters
Brown
Fairs
Fair
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
In summer, the song sings itself.
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Nothing whips my blood like verse.
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My first poem was a bolt from the blue … it broke a spell of disillusion and suicidal despondence. ... it filled me with soul satisfying joy.
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the set pieces of your faces stir me - leading citizens - but not in the same way.
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History must stay open, it is all humanity.
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There is no comment on pictures but pictures, on music but music, on poems but poetry. If you do, you do. If you don't, you don't. And that's all there is to that.
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Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood's edge
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What power has love but forgiveness? In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?
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Divorce is the sign of knowledge in our time.
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Poe gives the sense for the first time in America, that literature is serious, not a matter of courtesy but of truth.
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so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
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Prose may carry a load of ill-defined matters like a ship. But poetry is the machine which drives it, pruned to a perfect economy.
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A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.
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And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks of her dress in a strange bedroom-- feels the autumn dropping its silk and linen leaves about her ankles. The tawdry veined body emerges twisted upon itself like a winter wind.
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You have the chicken, the hen, and the rooster. The chicken goes with the hen So who is having sex with the rooster?
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No opinion can be trusted even the facts may be nothing but a printer's error.
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For there is a wind or a ghost of wind in all books echoing the life there, a high wind that fills the tubes of the ear until we think we hear a wind, actual.
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so much depends upon a red wheel barrow
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The American idiom has much to offer us that the English language has never heard of
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For what we cannot accomplish, what is denied to love, what we have lost in the anticipation a descent follows, endless and indestructible.
William Carlos Williams
