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But the sea which no one tends is also a garden
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
Also
Tends
Sea
Garden
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones.
William Carlos Williams
Sunshine of late afternoon-- On the glass tray a glass pitcher, the tumbler turned down, by which a key is lying--And the immaculate white bed
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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.
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My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.
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Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.
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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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What power has love but forgiveness? In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?
William Carlos Williams
By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast - a cold wind.
William Carlos Williams
When I am alone I am happy.
William Carlos Williams
For the beginning is assuredly the end- since we know nothing, pure and simple, beyond our own complexities.
William Carlos Williams
Prose may carry a load of ill-defined matters like a ship. But poetry is the machine which drives it, pruned to a perfect economy.
William Carlos Williams
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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What love is I don't know if it's not the response of our deepest natures to one another.
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Divorce is the sign of knowledge in our time.
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History must stay open, it is all humanity.
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A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.
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Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter.
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The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
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In summer, the song sings itself.
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Love is unworldly and nothing comes of it but love.
William Carlos Williams