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It is not what you say that matters but the manner in which you say it there lies the secret of the ages.
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
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Lying
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
we, in that instant, lost, breathless to be witnesses, as if we stood ourselves refreshed among the shining fauna of that fire.
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The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
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all to no end save beauty the eternal-- So in detail they, the crowd, are beautiful
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The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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A poem is this:/A nuance of sound/delicately operating/upon a cataract of sense/...the particulars/of a song waking/upon a bed of sound.
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For what we cannot accomplish, what is denied to love, what we have lost in the anticipation a descent follows, endless and indestructible.
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When I am alone I am happy.
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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
Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels.
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Death will be too late to bring us aid.
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Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse-- at least, blinded by the light, young love is.
William Carlos Williams
beauty’ is related not to ‘loveliness’ but to a state in which reality plays a part.
William Carlos Williams
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?
William Carlos Williams
Nothing whips my blood like verse.
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Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze.
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A poem is a small machine made of words. . .Its movement is intrinsic, undulant, a physical more than a literary character.
William Carlos Williams
Empty pockets make empty heads.
William Carlos Williams
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.
William Carlos Williams
Without invention nothing is well-spaced.
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
