There is nothing beginning nor end to the imagination but it delights in its own seasons reversing the usual order at will. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
The poem springs from the half spoken words of the patient.... When asked, how I have for so many years continued an… — 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
