It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice. It is in this solitude, a syllable, Out of these gawky flitterings, Intones its single emptiness, The savagest hollow of winter-sound.

Wallace Stevens
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More Quotes By Wallace Stevens
  1. The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.

  2. Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.

  3. I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.

  4. After the final no there comes a yes / And on that yes the future world depends.

  5. I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendos The blackbird whistling Or just after.

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