Quote #66
The thinking of art seems final when The thinking of god is smoky dew.
More from Wallace Stevens
- Do not speak to us of the greatness of poetry, Of the torches wisping in the underground, Of the structure of vaults upon a point of light.…
- It is the sun that shares our works. The moon shares nothing. It is a sea. When shall I come to say of the sun, It is a sea; it shares noth…
- So that's life, then: things are they are? It picks its way on the blue guitar. A million people on one string? And all their manner in the…
- Struggling toward impassioned choirs, Crying among the clouds, enraged By gold antagonists in air - I know my lazy, leaden twang Is like th…
- If to serenade almost to man Is to miss, by that, things as they are, Say that it is the serenade Of a man that plays a blue guitar.
- And the color, the overcast blue Of the air, in which the blue guitar Is a form, described but difficult, And I am merely a shadow hunched …
- The man bent over his guitar, A shearsman of sorts. The day was green. They said, 'You have a blue guitar, You do not play things as they a…
- Behold The approach of him whom none believes, Whom all believe that all believe, A pagan in a varnished car.