THESE are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night and… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Man has survived hitherto because he was too ignorant to know how to realise his wishes- Now that he can realise them,… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Poets are being pursued by the philosophers today, out of the poverty of philosophy. God damn it, you might think a man… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
It is difficult to get the news from poetry, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
So different, this man And this woman: A stream flowing In a field. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Who isn't frustrated and does not prove it by his actions - if you want to say so? But through art the… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Everyone in this life is defeated but a man, if he be a man, is not defeated. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Afraid lest he be caught up in a net of words, tripped up, bewildered and so defeated-thrown aside-a man hesitates to write… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
When a man makes a poem, makes it, mind you, he takes words as he finds them interrelated about him and composes… — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
“unsignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed this was Icarus drowning” — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
“You're a romanticist. What do you think a man is, a papaya? To digest your dinner? In pill form?” — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Imagination though it cannot wipe out the sting of remorse can instruct the mind in its proper uses. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
A poem is this:/A nuance of sound/delicately operating/upon a cataract of sense/...the particulars/of a song waking/upon a bed of sound. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
