77 ordspråk av William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams
This is where the difficulty lies. We are lucky when that underground current can be tapped and the secret spring of all our lives will send up its pure water. It seldom happens. A thousand trivialities push themselves to the front, our lying habits of everyday speech and thought are foremost, telling us that that is what "they" want to hear. Tell them something else.
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Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.
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Time is a storm in which we are all lost. Only inside the convolutions of the storm itself shall we find our directions.
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Times change and forms and their meanings alter. Thus new poems are necessary. Their forms must be discovered in the living language of their day, or old forms, embodying exploded concepts, will tyrannize over the imagination.
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We are a half-mad race, and what we say is not to be trusted.
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We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness.
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We lived long together a life filled, if you will, with flowers. So that I was cheered when I came first to know that there were flowers also in hell.
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We will it so and so it is past all accident.
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Well--
all things turn bitter in the end
whether you choose the right or
the left way
and--
dreams are not a bad thing.
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What power has love but forgiveness?
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When I am alone I am happy.
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When I was younger it was plain to me I must make something of myself. Older now I walk back streets admiring the houses of the very poor. . . .
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When they ask me, as of late they frequently do, how I have for so many years continued an equal interest in medicine and the poem, I reply that they amount for me to nearly the same thing.
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Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
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With what deep thirst
we quicken our desires
to that rank odor of a passing springtime!
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