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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
Fire
Breathless
Lost
Witnesses
Stood
Instant
Witness
Shining
Among
Fauna
Vision
Refreshed
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones.
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It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.
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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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Most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see them
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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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We sit and talk quietly, with long lapses of silence, and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech.
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all to no end save beauty the eternal-- So in detail they, the crowd, are beautiful
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
Death will be too late to bring us aid.
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O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.
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Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse-- at least, blinded by the light, young love is.
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As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world
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The American idiom has much to offer us that the English language has never heard of
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I have never been one to write by rule, not even by my own rules.
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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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No ideas but in things.
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The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky.
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so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
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For there is a wind or a ghost of wind in all books echoing the life there, a high wind that fills the tubes of the ear until we think we hear a wind, actual.
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Time is a storm in which we are all lost.
William Carlos Williams
