Of the Surface of Things In my room, the world is beyond my understanding; But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four Hills and a cloud.
Wallace StevensBeauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal; But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies; the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.
Wallace StevensIt has to be living, to learn the speech of the place, It has to face the man of the time.
Wallace Stevens