Wallace Stevens

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

Cold is our element and winter's air Brings voices as of lions coming down.

— Wallace Stevens

If poetry should address itself to the same needs and aspirations, the same hopes and fears, to which the Bible addresses itself,…

— Wallace Stevens

I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill.

— Wallace Stevens

Most poets who have little or nothing to say are concerned primarily with the way in which they say it ... if…

— Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter to regard the frost and the boughs of the pine trees, crusted with snow, And…

— Wallace Stevens

“The partaker partakes of that which changes him. The child that touches takes character from the thing, the body, it touches.”

— Wallace Stevens

One cannot spend one's time in being modern when there are so many more important things to be.

— Wallace Stevens

“Reality is the beginning not the end, Naked Alpha, not the hierophant Omega, Of dense investiture, with luminous vassals.”

— Wallace Stevens

There's no such thing as life; or if there is, It is faster than the weather, faster than Any character. It is…

— Wallace Stevens

Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.

— Wallace Stevens

The death of Satan was a tragedy For the imagination.

— Wallace Stevens

After one has abandoned a belief in God, poetry is that essence which takes its place as life's redemption.

— Wallace Stevens

“Aún no habías nacido cuando los árboles eran cristal ni has nacido ahora, en esta vigilia dentro de un sueño.”

— Wallace Stevens

“The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.”

— Wallace Stevens

The mind can never be satisfied.

— Wallace Stevens

Life's nonsense pierces us with strange relation.

— Wallace Stevens

Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.

— Wallace Stevens

It is the mind that is woven, the mind that was jerked And tufted in straggling thunder and shattered sun.

— Wallace Stevens

Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.

— Wallace Stevens

The mind is the great poem of winter, the man, Who, to find what will suffice, Destroys romantic tenements Of rose and…

— Wallace Stevens

And what's above is in the past As sure as all the angels are.

— Wallace Stevens

“The Snow Man" One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with…

— Wallace Stevens

Man is an eternal sophomore.

— Wallace Stevens

If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal…

— Wallace Stevens