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There's nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made of words.
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
Words
Nothing
Made
Sentimental
Poem
Machine
Machines
Large
Small
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
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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When I am alone I am happy.
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.
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I thought my friends were damn fools, because they didn't know any better way of conducting their lives. Still they conformed better than I to a code. I wanted to conform but I couldn't so I wrote my poetry.
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The pure products of America go crazy
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The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
William Carlos Williams
The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
William Carlos Williams
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow
William Carlos Williams
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.
William Carlos Williams
O Marvelous! What new configuration will come next? I am bewildered with multiplicity.
William Carlos Williams
The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
William Carlos Williams
Being an art form, verse cannot be free in the sense of having no limitations or guiding principle.
William Carlos Williams
The poem springs from the half spoken words of the patient.... When asked, how I have for so many years continued an equal interest in medicine and the poem, I reply that they amount for me to nearly the same thing.
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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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Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.
William Carlos Williams
Outside, the north wind, coming and passing, swelling and dying, lifts the frozen sand drives it a-rattle against the lidless windows and we may dear sit stroking the cat stroking the cat and smiling sleepily, prrrr.
William Carlos Williams
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
A poem is a small machine made out of words.
William Carlos Williams
To refine, to clarify, to intensify that eternal moment in which we alone live there is but a single force the imagination.
William Carlos Williams
No ideas but in things.
William Carlos Williams
