Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal. Wallace Stevens More Quotes by Wallace Stevens More Quotes From Wallace Stevens It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are. Wallace Stevens gardeningspiritreligion The leaves hop, scraping on the ground. It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound. Wallace Stevens iceskywinter All the great things have been denied and we live in an intricacy of new and local mythologies, political, economic, poetic, which are asserted with an ever-enlarging incoherence. Wallace Stevens poeticeconomicpolitical Poetry has to be something more than a conception of the mind. It has to be a revelation of nature. Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential. Wallace Stevens essentialsperceptionmind If sex were all, then every trembling hand Wallace Stevens dollssexhands The reading of a poem should be an experience. Its writing must be all the more so. Wallace Stevens readingshouldwriting To lose sensibility, to see what one sees, Wallace Stevens medicinesightphilosophy The whole race is a poet that writes down / The eccentric propositions of its fate. Wallace Stevens fateracewriting Beneath every no lays a passion for yes that had never been broken. Wallace Stevens passionbrokenacceptance A change of style is a change of meaning. Wallace Stevens style The great poems of heaven and hell have been written and the great poem of earth remains to be written. Wallace Stevens hellearthheaven Imagination is the power of the mind over the possibilities of things. Wallace Stevens possibilityimaginationmind The point of vision and desire are the same. Wallace Stevens visiondesire The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire. Wallace Stevens reasondesiregiving I was the world in which I walked. Wallace Stevens hikingjourneyworld One cannot spend one's time in being modern when there are so many more important things to be. Wallace Stevens modernimportanttime LIGHT FROM WITHIN my friend, cancer got you damn it: you had it beat for seven years at least. how did it come back? Why all that pain. again. and you, such a fighter you fought me over and over with tears and words and promises. you fought for me with honesty and a light so bright it hurts my heart. sweet lorna. at peace now finally no more battles, just light from within a flickering candle in the dark burns with you. Wallace Stevens hurtsweetpeace Like the Sweetness of Gardenias Mother, you died 15 years ago. pain, a rapier, cut until, finally, there was just peace like the sweetness of gardenias in the crystal vase on your yellow kitchen table. so fragrant. your voice lingers in my ear reminding, scolding, guiding a pleasant mantra of tenderness, magic words that move my palms, your palms. together we are molding, helping, creating. in the mirror I see your eyes, your beautiful brown circles looking back, so radiant. "don't forget me," you whispered the day you died. I won't. Wallace Stevens motherbeautifulpeace The consolations of space are nameless things. It was after the neurosis of winter. It was In the genius of summer that they blew up The statue of Jove among the boomy clouds. It took all day to quieten the sky And then to refill its emptiness again. Wallace Stevens summercloudswinter We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold. Wallace Stevens dyingnightdeath
