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we, in that instant, lost, breathless to be witnesses, as if we stood ourselves refreshed among the shining fauna of that fire.
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
Lost
Witnesses
Stood
Instant
Witness
Shining
Among
Fauna
Vision
Refreshed
Fire
Breathless
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The pure products of America go crazy
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and there grows in the mind a scent, it may be, of locust blossoms whose perfume is itself a wind moving to lead the mind away.
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[History is] a tyranny over the souls of the dead - and so the imagination of the living.
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Remorse is a virtue in that it is a stirrer up of the emotions but it is a folly to accept it is a criticism of conduct.
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The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
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As birds' wings beat the solid air without which none could fly so words freed by the imagination affirm reality by their flight.
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I pick the hair from her eyes and watch her misery with compassion.
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all to no end save beauty the eternal-- So in detail they, the crowd, are beautiful
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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.
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Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red firetruck moving tense unheeded to gong clangs siren howls and wheels rumbling through the dark city.
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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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My first poem was a bolt from the blue … it broke a spell of disillusion and suicidal despondence. ... it filled me with soul satisfying joy.
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Unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line, the old will go on repeating itself with recurring deadliness
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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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History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.
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Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze.
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I will teach you my townspeople how to perform a funeral for you have it over a troop of artists unless one should scour the world you have the ground sense necessary.
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