Share
×
Inspirational Quotes
Authors
Professions
Topics
Tags
Quote
It's the anarchy of poverty delights me, the old yellow wooden house indented among the new brick tenements
William Carlos Williams
Share
Change background
T
T
T
Change font
Original
TAGS & TOPICS
William Carlos Williams
Age: 79 †
Born: 1883
Born: September 17
Died: 1963
Died: March 4
Autobiographer
Literary Critic
Physician
Physician Writer
Poet
Writer
Bricks
Anarchy
Yellow
Delight
Among
Tenements
Poverty
Wooden
House
Brick
Delights
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
Liquor and love rescue the cloudy sense banish its despair give it a home.
William Carlos Williams
By listening to his language of his locality the poet begins to learn his craft. It is his function to lift, by use of imagination and the language he hears, the material conditions and appearances of his environment to the sphere of the intelligence where they will have new currency.
William Carlos Williams
Without invention nothing is well-spaced.
William Carlos Williams
Among of green stiff old bright broken branch come white sweet May again
William Carlos Williams
Divorce is the sign of knowledge in our time.
William Carlos Williams
Nothing whips my blood like verse.
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
There is nothing beginning nor end to the imagination but it delights in its own seasons reversing the usual order at will.
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
William Carlos Williams
First we have to see. Or first we have to be taught to see. We have to be taught to see here, because here is everywhere, related to everywhere else, and if we don't see, hear, taste, smell and feel in this place - not only will we never know anything but the world of sense will be by that much diminished everywhere.
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
William Carlos Williams
The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.
William Carlos Williams
No opinion can be trusted even the facts may be nothing but a printer's error.
William Carlos Williams
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentities stirs me to it: colored women day workers- old and experienced- returning home at dusk, in cast off clothing faces like old Florentine oak.
William Carlos Williams
Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses — The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end — of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits.
William Carlos Williams
A poem is a small machine made of words.
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
Dissonance / (if you are interested) / leads to discovery.
William Carlos Williams
The only human value of anything, writing included, is intense vision of the facts.
William Carlos Williams
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow
William Carlos Williams