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Being an art form, verse cannot be free in the sense of having no limitations or guiding principle.
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
Sense
Guiding
Art
Verse
Cannot
Verses
Form
Limitations
Limitation
Principle
Principles
Free
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.
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The descent beckons as the ascent beckoned
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It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.
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I pick the hair from her eyes and watch her misery with compassion.
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Who isn't frustrated and does not prove it by his actions - if you want to say so? But through art the psychologically maimed may become the most distinguished man of his age. Take Freud for instance.
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Poetry demands a different material than prose. It uses another facet of the same fact... the spontaneous conformation of language as it is heard.
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
Either I exist or I do not exist, and no amount of pap which I happen to be lapping can dull me to the loss.
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so much depends upon a red wheel barrow
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All women are not Helen, I know that, but have Helen in their hearts.
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History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.
William Carlos Williams
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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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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through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones.
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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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The pure products of America go crazy
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O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.
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Death will be too late to bring us aid.
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Love is that common tone shall raise his fiery head and sound his note.
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No ideas but in things.
William Carlos Williams
