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Afraid lest he be caught up in a net of words, tripped up, bewildered and so defeated-thrown aside-a man hesitates to write down his innermost convictions.
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
Thrown
Hesitates
Conviction
Tripped
Caught
Innermost
Afraid
Bewildered
Words
Lest
Write
Convictions
Writing
Defeated
Men
Aside
More quotes by William Carlos Williams
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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through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones.
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The perfect type of the man of action is the suicide.
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Poets are being pursued by the philosophers today, out of the poverty of philosophy. God damn it, you might think a man had no business to be writing, to be a poet unless some philosophic stinker gave him permission.
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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
History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.
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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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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
The poem springs from the half spoken words of the patient.... When asked, how I have for so many years continued an equal interest in medicine and the poem, I reply that they amount for me to nearly the same thing.
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Love is unworldly and nothing comes of it but love.
William Carlos Williams
The American idiom has much to offer us that the English language has never heard of
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THE THOUGHTFUL LOVER Deny yourself all half things. Have it or leave it. But it will keep—or it is not worth the having. Never start anything you can't finish— However do not lose faith because you are starved! She loves you she says. Believe it —tomorrow. But today the particulars of poetry that difficult art require your whole attention.
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My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.
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Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.
William Carlos Williams
We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness.
William Carlos Williams
What power has love but forgiveness? In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?
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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
Unless there is a new mind there cannot be a new line, the old will go on repeating itself with recurring deadliness
William Carlos Williams
beauty’ is related not to ‘loveliness’ but to a state in which reality plays a part.
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
