Wallace Stevens Quotes

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with our bones We left much more, left what still is The look of things, left what we felt At what we saw.

By Wallace Stevens
We say This changes and that changes. Thus the constant...

By Wallace Stevens
Two forms move among the dead, high sleep Who by his highness quiets them, high peace...

By Wallace Stevens
Two things of opposite natures seem to depend On one another, as a man depends...

By Wallace Stevens
These are the small townsmen of death, A man and a woman, like two leaves...

By Wallace Stevens
This death was his belief though death is a stone. This man loved earth, not heaven, enough to die.

By Wallace Stevens
There's no such thing as life; or if there is, It is faster than the weather, faster than...

By Wallace Stevens
The truth in a calm world, In which there is no other meaning, itself...

By Wallace Stevens
The wound kills that does not bleed. It has no nurse nor kin to know Nor kin to care.

By Wallace Stevens
The old brown hen and the old blue sky, Between the two we live and die The broken cartwheel on the hill.

By Wallace Stevens
The A B C of being, The ruddy temper, the hammer...

By Wallace Stevens
The body dies; the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.

By Wallace Stevens
Spread outward. Crack the round dome. Break through. Have liberty not as the air within a grave...

By Wallace Stevens
Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings Of those white elders; but, escaping,...

By Wallace Stevens
Say that it is the serenade Of a man that plays a blue guitar.

By Wallace Stevens
She says, 'But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss.'...

By Wallace Stevens
Politic man ordained Imagination as the fateful sin. Grandmother and her basketful of pears Must be the crux for our compendia.

By Wallace Stevens
Rosenbloom is dead. The tread of the carriers does not halt...

By Wallace Stevens
People fall out of windows, trees tumble down, Summer is changed to winter, the young grow old...

By Wallace Stevens
Now, the wry Rosenbloom is dead And his finical carriers tread,...

By Wallace Stevens
Life contracts and death is expected, As in a season of autumn. The soldier falls.

By Wallace Stevens
It may be that the ignorant man, alone, Has any chance to mate his life with life...

By Wallace Stevens
If her horny feet protrude, they come To show how cold she is, and dumb.

By Wallace Stevens
If there is a man white as marble Sits in a wood, in the greenest part,...

By Wallace Stevens
I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill.

By Wallace Stevens
I can't make head or tail of Life. Love is a fine thing, Art is a fine thing, Nature is a fine thing; but the average human mind and spirit ar...

By Wallace Stevens
Freedom is like a man who kills himself Each night, an incessant butcher, whose knife Grows sharp in blood.

By Wallace Stevens
For the soldier of time, it breathes a summer sleep, ...

By Wallace Stevens
From this the poem springs: that we live in a place That is not our own and, much more, not ourselves...

By Wallace Stevens
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

By Wallace Stevens