My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots. William Carlos Williams More Quotes by William Carlos Williams More Quotes From William Carlos Williams One thing I am convinced more and more is true, and that is this: The only way to be truly happy is to make others happy. When you realize that and take advantage of the fact, everything is made perfect. William Carlos Williams make-others-happyoptimisticperfect 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 secretagelying It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there. William Carlos Williams newspoetrymen Sometimes I find myself thinking, rather wistfully, about Lao Tzu's famous dictum: 'Govern a great nation as you would cook a small fish.' All around me I see something very different, let us say - a number of angry dwarfs trying to grill a whale. William Carlos Williams whalesnumbersthinking First we have to see. Or first we have to be taught to see. We have to be taught to see here, because here is everywhere, related to everywhere else, and if we don't see, hear, taste, smell and feel in this place - not only will we never know anything but the world of sense will be by that much diminished everywhere. William Carlos Williams smelltaughtworld The job of the poet is to use language effectively, his own language, the only language which is to him authentic. William Carlos Williams languageusejobs The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky. William Carlos Williams weightskylove I think these days when there is so little to believe in——when the old loyalties——God, country, and the hope of Heaven——aren't very real, we are more dependent than we should be on our friends. The only thing left to believe in——someone who seems beautiful. William Carlos Williams loyaltybeautifulcountry 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 usualimaginationorder As birds' wings beat the solid air without which none could fly so words freed by the imagination affirm reality by their flight. William Carlos Williams birds-wingsairreality My first poem was a bolt from the blue … it broke a spell of disillusion and suicidal despondence. ... it filled me with soul satisfying joy. William Carlos Williams suicidalbluejoy It is not fair to be old, to put on a brown sweater. William Carlos Williams sweatersfairsbrown Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses — The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end — of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits. William Carlos Williams flowerloveromantic Compose. (No ideas William Carlos Williams thoughtfulflowerthinking But all art is sensual and poetry particularly so. It is directly, that is, of the senses, and since the senses do not exist without an object for their employment all art is necessarily objective. It doesn't declaim or explain, it presents. William Carlos Williams poetrysensualart What power has love but forgiveness? William Carlos Williams power-of-forgivenessforgiveness I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it. William Carlos Williams diseasewritingthinking We sit and talk quietly, with long lapses of silence, and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech. William Carlos Williams silenceeyelong In summer, the song sings itself. William Carlos Williams naturesummersong The poem springs from the half spoken words of the patient.... When asked, how I have for so many years continued an equal interest in medicine and the poem, I reply that they amount for me to nearly the same thing. William Carlos Williams medicinespringyears
