Wallace Stevens Quotes

How red the rose that is the soldier's wound, The wounds of many soldiers, the wounds of all The soldiers that have fallen, red in blood, The soldier of time grown deathless in great size.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Esthétique du Mal."
(0) (0)
The muddy rivers of spring Are snarling Under the muddy skies. The mind is muddy.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Mud Master."
(0) (0)
Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. Sunday Morning (l. 16-18). . . Collected Poems [Stevie Smith]. James MacGibbon, ed. (1976) New Directions.
(0) (0)
Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "The Pure Good of Theory."
(1) (0)
Politic man ordained Imagination as the fateful sin. Grandmother and her basketful of pears Must be the crux for our compendia.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Academic Discourse at Havana."
(0) (0)
Revolution Is the affair of logical lunatics.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Esthétique du Mal."
(0) (0)
Incapable master of all force, Too vague idealist, overwhelmed By an afflatus that persists.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Negation."
(0) (0)
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink, Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. Sunday Morning (l. 118-120). . . Collected Poems [Stevie Smith]. James MacGibbon, ed. (1976) New Directions.
(0) (0)
It is time that beats in the breast and it is time That batters against the mind, silent and proud, The mind that knows it is destroyed by time.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "The Pure Good of Theory."
(0) (0)
A poem need not have a meaning and like most things in nature often does not have.
Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Adagia," Opus Posthumous (1959).
(4) (1)