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What power has love but forgiveness?
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
Forgiveness
Power
Love
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
The only human value of anything, writing included, is intense vision of the facts.
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The only realism in art is of the imagination.
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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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The job of the poet is to use language effectively, his own language, the only language which is to him authentic.
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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.
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For the beginning is assuredly the end- since we know nothing, pure and simple, beyond our own complexities.
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The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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The Moon, the dried weeds and the Pleiades - Seven feet tall the dark, dried weed stalks make a part of the night a red lace on the milky blue sky
William Carlos Williams
Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze.
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The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
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The pure products of America go crazy
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It was the love of love, the love of swallows up all else, a grateful love, a love of natural, of people, of animals, a love ingengering gentleness and goodness that moved meand that I saw in you
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Covertly the hands of a great clock go round and round! Were they to move quickly and at once the whole secret would be out and the shuffling of all ants be done forever.
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The War is the first and only thing in the world today. The arts generally are not, nor is this writing a diversion from that for relief, a turning away. It is the war or part of it, merely a different sector of the field.
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the set pieces of your faces stir me - leading citizens - but not in the same way.
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A poem is a small machine made out of words.
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Nothing whips my blood like verse.
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I have never been one to write by rule, not even by my own rules.
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Dissonance / (if you are interested) / leads to discovery.
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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
William Carlos Williams
