Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right. — Wallace Stevens Inspirational Copy Share Image
It is necessary to any originality to have the courage to be an amateur. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
And what's above is in the past As sure as all the angels are. — Wallace Stevens Angel Copy Share Image
There may be always a time of innocence. There is never a place. — Wallace Stevens Innocence Copy Share Image
Human nature is like water. It takes the shape of its container. — Wallace Stevens Human Copy Share Image
The mind is the great poem of winter, the man, Who, to find what will suffice, Destroys romantic tenements Of rose and… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
The wind had seized the tree and ha, and ha, It held the shivering, the shaken limbs, Then bathed its body in… — Wallace Stevens Body Copy Share Image
It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
They said, 'You have a blue guitar, / You do not play things as they are.' / The man replied, 'Things as… — Wallace Stevens Blue Copy Share Image
We say God and the imagination are one... How high that highest candle lights the dark. — Wallace Stevens Candle Copy Share Image
To a large extent, the problems of poets are the problems of painters, and poets must often turn to the literature of… — Wallace Stevens Books Copy Share Image
The wind shifts like this: Like a human without illusions, Who still feels irrational things within her. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers. — Wallace Stevens Artificial flowers Copy Share Image
The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem. — Wallace Stevens Everyday Copy Share Image
Ethics are no more a part of poetry than theyare of painting. — Wallace Stevens Artist Copy Share Image
Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential. — Wallace Stevens Conceptions Copy Share Image
Funest philosophers and ponderers, Their evocations are the speech of clouds. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
“Then the sea and heaven rolled as one and from the two came fresh transfigurings of freshest blue.” — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
“The old seraph, parcel-gilded, among violets Inhaled the appointed odor, while the doves Rose up like phantoms from chronologies.” — Wallace Stevens Smell Copy Share Image
It is the sea that whitens the roof. The sea drifts through the winter air. It is the sea that the north… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
“Desiring the exhilarations of changes: The motive for metaphor, shrinking from The weight of primary noon ...” — wallace stevens Change Copy Share Image
I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know. — Wallace Stevens Accents Copy Share Image
Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good. — Wallace Stevens Cameras Copy Share Image
The subject matter... is not that collection of solid, static objects extended in space but the life that is lived in the… — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches. — Wallace Stevens Beach Copy Share Image
I have said no To everything, in order to get at myself. I have wiped away moonlight like mud. — Wallace Stevens Moonlight Copy Share Image
An old argument with me is that the true religious force in the world is not the church, but the world itself:… — Wallace Stevens Argument Copy Share Image
“Aún no habías nacido cuando los árboles eran cristal ni has nacido ahora, en esta vigilia dentro de un sueño.” — Wallace Stevens Amor Copy Share Image
A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn… — Wallace Stevens Autumn Copy Share Image
Freedom is like a man who kills himself Each night, an incessant butcher, whose knife Grows sharp in blood. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
