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A poem is a small machine made of words.

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
Made
Poem
Machine
Machines
Small
Words

More quotes by William Carlos Williams

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Nothing whips my blood like verse.
William Carlos Williams
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Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.
William Carlos Williams
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That which is possible is inevitable.
William Carlos Williams
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Minds like beds always made up (more stony than a shore) unwilling or unable.
William Carlos Williams
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beauty’ is related not to ‘loveliness’ but to a state in which reality plays a part.
William Carlos Williams
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Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.
William Carlos Williams
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Poetry demands a different material than prose. It uses another facet of the same fact... the spontaneous conformation of language as it is heard.
William Carlos Williams
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The only realism in art is of the imagination.
William Carlos Williams
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Divorce is the sign of knowledge in our time.
William Carlos Williams
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Liquor and love rescue the cloudy sense banish its despair give it a home.
William Carlos Williams
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Everyone in this life is defeated but a man, if he be a man, is not defeated.
William Carlos Williams
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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.
William Carlos Williams
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I'll write whatever I damn please, whenever I damn please and as I damn please and it'll be good if the authentic spirit of change is on it.
William Carlos Williams
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It's the anarchy of poverty delights me, the old yellow wooden house indented among the new brick tenements
William Carlos Williams
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The pure products of America go crazy--mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey with its isolate lakes and valleys, its deaf-mutes, thieves.
William Carlos Williams
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And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks of her dress in a strange bedroom-- feels the autumn dropping its silk and linen leaves about her ankles. The tawdry veined body emerges twisted upon itself like a winter wind.
William Carlos Williams
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The pure products of America go crazy
William Carlos Williams
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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
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A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.
William Carlos Williams
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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?
William Carlos Williams