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
The most scandalous Wallace Stevens quotes that are guaranted to improve your brain
The day of the sun is like the day of a king.
It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.
True villains are extremely photogenic.
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The imagination is one of the forces of nature.
Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.
Or check the curated lists with quotes from Wallace Stevens:
• Quotes about Poetry
The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.
The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.
It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
Human nature is like water. It takes the shape of its container.
I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.
How has the human spirit ever survived the terrific literature with which it has had to contend?
One cannot spend one's time in being modern when there are so many more important things to be.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.
Beneath every no lays a passion for yes that had never been broken.
A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
The poet is the priest of the invisible.
The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.
Accuracy of observation is the equivalent of accuracy of thinking.
It is the unknown that excites the ardor of scholars, who, in the known alone, would shrivel up with boredom.
Disillusion is the last illusion.
Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.
Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
God and the imagination are one.
I was the world in which I walked.
Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.
Unfortunately there is nothing more inane than an Easter carol.
It is a religious perversion of the activity of Spring in our blood.
If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.
I have said no To everything, in order to get at myself. I have wiped away moonlight like mud.
The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.
Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.
Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates.
The imagination is man's power over nature.
The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.
Life's nonsense pierces us with strange relation.
To regard the imagination as metaphysics is to think of it as part of life, and to think of it as part of life is to realize the extent of artifice. We live in the mind.
A violent order is disorder; and a great disorder is an order. These two things are one.
Imagination is the power of the mind over the possibilities of things.
Imagination...is the irrepressible revolutionist.
Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.
Freedom is like a man who kills himself Each night, an incessant butcher, whose knife Grows sharp in blood.
Frogs eat Butterflies, Snakes eat Frogs, Hogs eat Snakes, Men eat Hogs.
How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.
If poetry should address itself to the same needs and aspirations, the same hopes and fears, to which the Bible addresses itself, it might rival it in distribution.
Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!
How red the rose that is the soldier
We say God and the imagination are one... How high that highest candle lights the dark.
Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy wades through water, feeling with his toes for the bottom: The echoes are the bottom.
Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies; the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.