55 ordspråk av Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens föddes den
October 2nd 1879 och dog den 2 August
1955 - whose work explores the interaction of reality and what man can make of reality in his mind.
Mer info via Google eller Bing. I can't make head or tail of Life. Love is a fine thing, Art is a fine thing, Nature is a fine thing; but the average human mind and spirit are confusing beyond measure. Sometimes I think that all our learning is the little learning of the maxim. To laugh at a Roman awe-stricken in a sacred grove is to laugh at something today.
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I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections, Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling, Or just after
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I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections, Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling, Or just after
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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.
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In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all
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In the world of words, the imagination is one of the forces of nature.
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Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
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It is the unknown that excites the ardor of scholars, who, in the known alone, would shrivel up with boredom.
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It may be that the ignorant man, alone, has any chance to mate his life with life
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It's so fucking controlled. Poetry must not become a hospital.
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Just as my fingers on the keys / Make music, so the selfsame sounds / On my spirit make a music, too. / Music is feeling, then, not sound.
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Money is a kind of poetry.
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Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.
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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.
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Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.
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