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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?
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
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Words
Power
Done
Good
Love
Undone
Intervention
Forgiveness
Otherwise
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A new world is only a new mind.
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The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky.
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I think of the poetry of René Char and all he must have seen and suffered that has brought him to speak only of sedgy rivers, of daffodils and tulips whose roots they water, even to the free-flowing river that laves the rootlets of those sweet-scented flowers that people the milky way
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Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.
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So different, this man And this woman: A stream flowing In a field.
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Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze.
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The descent beckons as the ascent beckoned
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In summer, the song sings itself.
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I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.
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beauty’ is related not to ‘loveliness’ but to a state in which reality plays a part.
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The pure products of America go crazy
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The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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It's a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
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If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,-- Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?
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Say it, no ideas but in things - nothing but the blank faces of the houses and cylindrical trees bent, forked by preconception and accident - split, furrowed, creased, mottled, stained - secret - into the body of the light!
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Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels.
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I will teach you my townspeople how to perform a funeral for you have it over a troop of artists unless one should scour the world you have the ground sense necessary.
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Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses — The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end — of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits.
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What can any of us do with his talent but try to develop his vision, so that through frequent failures we may learn better what we have missed in the past.
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Each speech having its own character, the poetry it engenders will be peculiar to that speech also in its own intrinsic form. The effect is beauty, what in a single object resolves our complex feelings of propriety.
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