After the final no there comes a yes And on that yes the future world depends. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
A poem need not have a meaning and like most things in nature often does not have. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
People ought to like poetry the way a child likes snow & they would if poets wrote it. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
“... unreal things have a reality of their own, in poetry as elsewhere.” — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The whole race is a poet that writes down / The eccentric propositions of its fate. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
To a large extent, the problems of poets are the problems of painters, and poets must often turn to the literature of… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The mind is the great poem ofwinter, the man, Who, to find what will suffice, Destroys romantic tenements Of rose and ice.... — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Life consists Of propositions about life. The human Revery is a solitude in which We compose these propositions, torn by dreams, By… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Soldier, there is a war between the mind And sky, between thought and day and night. It is For that the poet… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
To name an object is to deprive a poem of three-fourths of its pleasure, which consists in a little-by-little guessing game; the… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
“Poetry is a finikin thing of air That lives uncertainly and not for long Yet radiantly beyond much lustier blurs.” — 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 Image
The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Music falls on the silence like a sense / A passion that we feel, not understand. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
