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THESE are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.
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
Week
Barrenness
Year
Plunges
Dark
Desolate
Night
Plunge
Nature
Equals
Heart
Lower
Years
Weeks
Men
Stupidity
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.
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My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.
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Man has survived hitherto because he was too ignorant to know how to realise his wishes- Now that he can realise them, he must either change them or perish
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To make a start, out of particulars and make them general, rolling up the sum, by defective means Sniffing the trees, just another dog among a lot of dogs.What else is there? And to do?
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Dissonance / (if you are interested) / leads to discovery.
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As birds' wings beat the solid air without which none could fly so words freed by the imagination affirm reality by their flight.
William Carlos Williams
O Marvelous! What new configuration will come next? I am bewildered with multiplicity.
William Carlos Williams
No wreaths please - especially no hothouse flowers. Some common memento is better, something he prized and is known by: his old clothes - a few books perhaps.
William Carlos Williams
The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky.
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Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze. Gaining and failing they are buffeted by a dark wind - But what? On harsh weedstalks the flock has rested - the snow is covered with broken seed husks and the wind tempered with a shrill piping of plenty.
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History must stay open, it is all humanity.
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But all art is sensual and poetry particularly so. It is directly, that is, of the senses, and since the senses do not exist without an object for their employment all art is necessarily objective. It doesn't declaim or explain, it presents.
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The instant trivial as it is is all we have unless-unless things the imagination feeds upon, the scent of the rose, startle us anew.
William Carlos Williams
It is almost impossible to state what one in fact believes, because it is almost impossible to hold a belief and to define it at the same time.
William Carlos Williams
The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
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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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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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I think these days when there is so little to believe in——when the old loyalties——God, country, and the hope of Heaven——aren't very real, we are more dependent than we should be on our friends. The only thing left to believe in——someone who seems beautiful.
William Carlos Williams
As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
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Most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see them
William Carlos Williams