Wallace Stevens

(October 2, 1879 – August 2, 1955 / Pennsylvania / United States)

Wallace Stevens Quotes

  • ''One ought not to hoard culture. It should be adapted and infused into society as a leaven. Liberality of culture does not mean illiberality of its benefits.''
    Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. Souvenirs and Prophecies: the Young Wallace Stevens, ch. 3, entry for June 20, 1899, ed. Holly Stevens (1977).
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  • ''A diary is more or less the work of a man of clay whose hands are clumsy and in whose eyes there is no light.''
    Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. Entry for July 26, 1899. Souvenirs and Prophecies: the Young Wallace Stevens, ch. 3, ed. Holly Stevens (1977).
  • ''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.''
    Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. Journal entry, April 20, 1920. Souvenirs and Prophecies: the Young Wallace Stevens, ch. 6, ed. Holly Stevens (1966).
  • ''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).
  • ''How has the human spirit ever survived the terrific literature with which it has had to contend?''
    Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Adagia," Opus Posthumous (1959).
  • ''Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.''
    Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Adagia," Opus Posthumous (1959).
  • ''Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.''
    Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Adagia," Opus Posthumous (1959).

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Best Poem of Wallace Stevens

Sunday Morning

1

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the seas, to silent ...

Read the full of Sunday Morning

Poem Written At Morning

A sunny day's complete Poussiniana
Divide it from itself. It is this or that
And it is not.
By metaphor you paint
A thing. Thus, the pineapple was a leather fruit,
A fruit for pewter, thorned and palmed and blue,
To be served by men of ice.
The senses paint
By metaphor. The juice was fragranter

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