For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
Wallace StevensI am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.
Wallace StevensThe reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.
Wallace StevensAt the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
Wallace Stevens