Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse-- at least, blinded by the light, young love is. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
At our age the imagination across the sorry facts lifts us to make roses stand before thorns. Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse— at least, blinded by the light, young love is. But we are older, I… — 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
Prose may carry a load of ill-defined matters like a ship. But poetry is the machine which drives it, pruned to a perfect economy. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
It is not what you say that matters but the manner in which you say it; there lies the secret of the ages. — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
“And a church spire sketched on the sky, of sheet metal and open beams, to resemble a church spire” — William Carlos Williams Copy Share Image
