The magnificent cause of being, The imagination, the one reality In this imagined world — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Metaphor creates a new reality from which the original appears to be unreal. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Of what is real I say, Is it the old, the roseate parent or The bride come jingling, kissed and cupped, or… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one's meditations on the text and the disclosures of these… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
How cold the vacancy When the phantoms are gone and the shaken realist First sees reality. The mortal no Has its emptiness… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Reality is not what it is. It consists of the many realities which it can be made into. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
It is the imagination pressing back against the pressure of reality. It seems, in the last analysis, to have something to do… — 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
