The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The essential fault of surrealism is that it invents without discovering. To make a clam play an accordion is to invent not to discover. The observation of the unconscious, so far as it can be observed, should reveal things of which we have previously been unconscious, not the familiar things of which we have been conscious plus imagination.
I still feel the need of some imperishable bliss.
Next to love is the desire for love.
The imagination is the liberty of the mind It is intrpeid and eager and the extreme of its achievement lies in abstraction.
The poem must resist the intelligence almost successfully.
The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.
Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.
Everything possessed the power to transform itself, or else, and what meant more, to be transformed.
One must read poetry with one's nerves.
We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.
The reading of a poem should be an experience. Its writing must be all the more so.
The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.
Poetry is the statement of a relation between a man and the world
To a large extent, the problems of poets are the problems of painters, and poets must often turn to the literature of painting for a discussion of their own problems.
Most poets who have little or nothing to say are concerned primarily with the way in which they say it ... if it is true that the style of a poem and the poem itself are one, ... it may be ... that the poets who have little or nothing to say are, or will be, the poets that matter.
The exceeding brightness of this early sun Makes me conceive how dark I have become.
As life grows more terrible, its literature grows more terrible.
If ever the search for a tranquil belief should end, The future might stop emerging out of the past, Out of what is full of us; yet the search And the future emerging out of us seem to be one.
I am one of you and being one of you is being and knowing what I am and know. Yet I am the necessary Angel of earth, since, in my sight, you see the earth again.
It is the mind that is woven, the mind that was jerked And tufted in straggling thunder and shattered sun.
Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy wades through water, feeling with his toes for the bottom: The echoes are the bottom.
The greatest poverty is not to live In a physical world, to feel that one's desire Is too difficult to tell from despair.
Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.
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.
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