Wallace Stevens Quotes

Union of the weakest develops strength Not wisdom. Can all men, together, avenge One of the leaves that have fallen in autumn? But the wise man avenges by building his city in snow.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. Like Decorations in a Nigger Cemetery, sct. 50, Ideas of Order (1936).
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There are these sudden mobs of men, These sudden clouds of faces and arms, An immense suppression, freed, These voices crying without knowing for what, Except to be happy, without knowing how, Imposing forms they cannot describe, Requiring order beyond their speech.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz."
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It is the sun that shares our works. The moon shares nothing. It is a sea.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "The Man with the Blue Guitar."
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Now, the wry Rosenbloom is dead And his finical carriers tread, On a hundred legs, the tread Of the dead. Rosenbloom is dead.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Cortege for Rosenbloom."
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Poetry is a finikin thing of air That lives uncertainly and not for long Yet radiantly beyond much lustier blurs.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Like Decorations in a Nigger Cemetery."
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Mon Dieu, hear the poet's prayer. The romantic should be here. The romantic should be there. It ought to be everywhere. But the romantic must never remain. Mon Dieu, and must never again return.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Sailing After Lunch."
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Ah, but to play man number one, To drive the dagger in his heart, To lay his brain upon the board And pick the acrid colors out, To nail his thought across the door, Its wings spread wide to rain and snow, To strike his living hi and ho....
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "The Man with the Blue Guitar."
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I sang a canto in a canton, Cunning-coo, O, cuckoo cock, In a canton of Belshazzar To Belshazzar, putrid rock, Pillar of a putrid people....
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Country Words."
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It needed the heavy nights of drenching weather To make him return to people, to find among them Whatever it was that he found in their absence, A pleasure, an indulgence, an infatuation.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Like Decorations in a Nigger Cemetery."
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But I am, in any case, A most inappropriate man In a most unpropitious place.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Sailing After Lunch."
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