The instant trivial as it is is all we have unless-unless things the imagination feeds upon, the scent of the rose, startle us anew. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
and there grows in the mind a scent, it may be, of locust blossoms whose perfume is itself a wind moving to lead the mind away. — 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
