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The business of love is cruelty which, by our wills, we transform to live together.
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
Transform
Cruelty
Broken
Business
Together
Live
Heart
Love
Wills
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There is nothing beginning nor end to the imagination but it delights in its own seasons reversing the usual order at will.
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Remorse is a virtue in that it is a stirrer up of the emotions but it is a folly to accept it is a criticism of conduct.
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all to no end save beauty the eternal-- So in detail they, the crowd, are beautiful
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Compose. (No ideas but in things) Invent! Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.
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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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The only human value of anything, writing included, is intense vision of the facts.
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Time is a storm in which we are all lost.
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Among of green stiff old bright broken branch come white sweet May again
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As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
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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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A poem is a small machine made out of words.
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so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
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My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.
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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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