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When you allow me to live with you, every glance at the world around you will be a sort of salvation.
William Stafford
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William Stafford
Age: 79 †
Born: 1914
Born: January 17
Died: 1993
Died: August 28
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Hutchinson
Kansas
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More quotes by William Stafford
The ocean and I have many pebbles To find and wash off and roll into shape.
William Stafford
It is as if the ordinary language we use every day has a hidden set of signals, a kind of secret code.
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When a goat likes a book, the whole book is gone, and the meaning has to go find an author again.
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They miss the whisper that runs any day in your mind, Who are you really, wanderer?-- and the answer you have to give no matter how dark and cold the world around you is: Maybe I'm a king.
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Security of character would be like a compass, you know? Other people may say that this way is north, or this way might be north. But the compass just says -- north. That's what we count on.
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A poem is a serious joke, a truth that has learned jujitsu.
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People wander about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread.
William Stafford
The signals we give-yes or no, or maybe-/should be clear/the darkness around us is deep.
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Anyone who breathes is in the rhythm business.
William Stafford
I have woven a parachute out of everything broken.
William Stafford
Can injustice one way be corrected without the interim reaction that tries to impose injustice the other way?
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Literature is not a picture of life, but is a separate experience with its own kind of flow and enhancement.
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You don't need many words if you already know what you're talking about
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A student comes to me with a piece of writing, holds it out, says, 'Is this good?' A whole sequence of emergencies goes off in my mind. That's not a question to ask anyone but yourself.
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I heard a bird congratulating itself all day for being a jay. Nobody cared. But it was glad all over again, and said so, again.
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There is no such thing as writer's block for writers whose standards are low enough.
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If you purify the pond, the lilies die
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An owl sound wandered along the road with me. I didn't hear it--I breathed it into my ears.
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There are so many things admirable people do not understand.
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It is this impulse to change the quality of experience that I recognize as central to creation. . . . Out of all that could be done, you choose one thing. What that one thing is, nothing else can tell you--you come at it over unmarked snow.
William Stafford