The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
That tuft of jungle feathers, That animal eye, Is just what you say. That savage of fire, That seed, Have it your… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
I measure myself Against a tall tree I find that I am much taller, For I reach right up to the sun… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
People should like poetry the way a child likes snow, and they would if poets wrote it. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
In European thought in general, as contrasted with American, vigor, life and originality have a kind of easy, professional utterance. American --… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
In the same way, you were happy in spring, With the half colors of quarter-things, The slightly brighter sky, the melting clouds,… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Most poets who have little or nothing to say are concerned primarily with the way in which they say it ... if… — 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
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
