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William Carlos Williams quotes - page 4
Each speech having its own character, the poetry it engenders will be peculiar to that speech also in its own intrinsic form.
William Carlos Williams
Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.
William Carlos Williams
Such war, as the arts live and breathe by, is continuous.
William Carlos Williams
Still, the profound change has come upon them: rooted, they grip down and begin to awaken.
William Carlos Williams
If so I look for a development along these lines and will be satisfied with nothing else.
William Carlos Williams
The War is the first and only thing in the world today.
William Carlos Williams
The arts have a complex relation to society. The poet isn't a fixed phenomenon, no more is his work.
William Carlos Williams
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentities stirs me to it.
William Carlos Williams
I think of the poetry of René Char and all he must have seen and suffered that has brought him to speak only of sedgy rivers, of daffodils and tulips whose roots they water.
William Carlos Williams
The War is the first and only thing in the world today. The arts generally are not, nor is this writing a diversion from that for relief, a turning away. It is the war or part of it, merely a different sector of the field.
William Carlos Williams
Each speech having its own character, the poetry it engenders will be peculiar to that speech also in its own intrinsic form. The effect is beauty, what in a single object resolves our complex feelings of propriety.
William Carlos Williams
I think of the poetry of René Char and all he must have seen and suffered that has brought him to speak only of sedgy rivers, of daffodils and tulips whose roots they water, even to the free-flowing river that laves the rootlets of those sweet-scented flowers that people the milky way.
William Carlos Williams
The only realism in art is of the imagination.
William Carlos Williams
A new world is only a new mind.
William Carlos Williams
Let the snake wait under his weed and the writing be of words, slow and quick, sharp to strike, quiet to wait, sleepless. - through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones. Compose. (No ideas but in things) Invent! Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.
William Carlos Williams
When a man makes a poem, makes it, mind you, he takes words as he finds them interrelated about him and composes them - without distortion which would mar their exact significances - into an intense expression of his perceptions and ardors that they may constitute a revelation in the speech that he uses. It isn't what he says that counts as a work of art, it's what he makes, with such intensity of perception that it lives with an intrinsic movement of its own to verify its authenticity.
William Carlos Williams
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentities stirs me to it: colored women day workers- old and experienced- returning home at dusk, in cast off clothing faces like old Florentine oak.
William Carlos Williams
When I am alone I am happy.
William Carlos Williams
Not now. Love itself a flower with roots in a parched ground. Empty pockets make empty heads. Cure it if you can but do not believe that we can live today in the country for the country will bring us no peace.
William Carlos Williams
Of asphodel, that greeny flower.
William Carlos Williams
I cannot say.
William Carlos Williams
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