Top 150 Quotes & Sayings by William Carlos Williams - Page 3

It's the anarchy of poverty delights me, the old yellow wooden house indented among the new brick tenements

You lethargic, waiting upon me, waiting for the fire and I attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty Shaken by your beauty Shaken.

so much depends upon a red wheel barrow

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.

Outside, the north wind, coming and passing, swelling and dying, lifts the frozen sand drives it a-rattle against the lidless windows and we may dear sit stroking the cat stroking the cat and smiling sleepily, prrrr.

For there is a wind or a ghost of wind in all books echoing the life there, a high wind that fills the tubes of the ear until we think we hear a wind, actual.

Minds like beds always made up (more stony than a shore) unwilling or unable.

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.

Among the rain and lights I saw the figure 5 in gold on a red firetruck moving tense unheeded to gong clangs siren howls and wheels rumbling through the dark city.

Sunshine of late afternoon-- On the glass tray a glass pitcher, the tumbler turned down, by which a key is lying--And the immaculate white bed

I will teach you my townspeople how to perform a funeral for you have it over a troop of artists unless one should scour the world you have the ground sense necessary.

O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.

Either I exist or I do not exist, and no amount of pap which I happen to be lapping can dull me to the loss.

Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.

History, history! We fools, what do we know or care.

It's a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!

For what we cannot accomplish, what is denied to love, what we have lost in the anticipation a descent follows, endless and indestructible.

Remorse is a virtue in that it is a stirrer up of the emotions but it is a folly to accept it is a criticism of conduct.

The perfect type of the man of action is the suicide.

Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!

THESE are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.

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.

The Moon, the dried weeds and the Pleiades - Seven feet tall the dark, dried weed stalks make a part of the night a red lace on the milky blue sky

We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness.

No wreaths please - especially no hothouse flowers. Some common memento is better, something he prized and is known by: his old clothes - a few books perhaps.

Without invention nothing is well-spaced.

Love is that common tone shall raise his fiery head and sound his note.

By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast - a cold wind.

If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,-- Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?

At our age the imagination across the sorry facts lifts us to make roses stand before thorns. Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse— at least, blinded by the light, young love is. But we are older, I to love and you to be loved, we have, no matter how, by our wills survived to keep the jeweled prize always at our finger tips. We will it so and so it is past all accident.