Tinsel in February, tinsel in August. There are things in a man besides his reason. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Cold is our element and winter's air Brings voices as of lions coming down. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Compare the silent rose of the sun And rain, the blood-rose living in its smell, With this paper, this dust. That states… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Day after day, throughout the winter, We hardened ourselves to live by bluest reason In a world of wind and frost. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The chrysanthemums' astringent fragrance comes Each year to disguise the clanking mechanism Of machine within machine within machine. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The winter is made and you have to bear it, The winter web, the winter woven, wind and wind, For all the… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
You like it under the trees in autumn, because everything is half dead. The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The heavy trees, The grunting, shuffling branches, the robust, The nocturnal, the antique, the blue-green pines Deepen the feelings to inhuman depths. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
“Gubbinal" That strange flower, the sun, Is just what you say. Have it your way. The world is ugly, And the people… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
“The Snow Man" One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
One must have a mind of winter to regard the frost and the boughs of the pine trees, crusted with snow, And… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Poet, patting more nonsense foamed From the sea, conceive for thecourts Of these academies, the diviner health Disclosed in common forms. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
Music falls on the silence like a sense / A passion that we feel, not understand. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
After a lustre of the moon, we say We have not the need of any paradise, We have not the need of any seducing… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
“We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
“Lunar Paraphrase" The moon is the mother of pathos and pity. When, at the wearier end of November, Her old light moves along the… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
“The stars are putting on their glittering belts, They throw around their shoulders cloaks that flash Like a great shadow's last embellishment” — wallace stevens Copy Share
Unfortunately there is nothing more inane than an Easter carol. It is a religious perversion of the activity of Spring in our blood. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
A diary is more or less the work of a man of clay whose hands are clumsy and in whose eyes there is no… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share
