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[History is] a tyranny over the souls of the dead - and so the imagination of the living.
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
Tyranny
Souls
Dead
Imagination
Living
History
Soul
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
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A poem is a small machine made out of words.
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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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Among of green stiff old bright broken branch come white sweet May again
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If it ain't a pleasure, it ain't a poem.
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One by one the objects are defined? It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf But now the stark dignity of entrance?Still, the profound change has come upon them: rooted, they grip down and begin to awaken.
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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.
William Carlos Williams
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!
William Carlos Williams
The job of the poet is to use language effectively, his own language, the only language which is to him authentic.
William Carlos Williams
What power has love but forgiveness?
William Carlos Williams
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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Unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line, the old will go on repeating itself with recurring deadliness
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I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.
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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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History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.
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The pure products of America go crazy--mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey with its isolate lakes and valleys, its deaf-mutes, thieves.
William Carlos Williams
Poe gives the sense for the first time in America, that literature is serious, not a matter of courtesy but of truth.
William Carlos Williams
It's a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!
William Carlos Williams
O Marvelous! What new configuration will come next? I am bewildered with multiplicity.
William Carlos Williams
The perfect type of the man of action is the suicide.
William Carlos Williams
