I thought how utterly we have forsaken the Earth, in the sense of excluding it from our thoughts. There are but few who consider its physical hugeness, its rough enormity. It is still a disparate monstrosity, full of solitudes, barrens, wilds. It still dwarfs, terrifies, crushes. The rivers still roar, the mountains still crash, the winds still shatter. Man is an affair of cities. His gardens, orchards and fields are mere scrapings. Somehow, however, he has managed to shut out the face of the giant from his windows. But the giant is there, nevertheless.
Wallace StevensDeath is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
Wallace StevensThe day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.
Wallace StevensMost modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.
Wallace Stevens