“The sea returns upon the men,
The fields entrap the children, brick
Is a weed and all the flies are caught,
Wingless and withered, but living alive.
The discord merely magnified.
Deeper within the belly's dark
Of time, time grows upon the rock.”
The Man With the Blue Guitar (1937)
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Wallace Stevens 278
American poet 1879–1955Related quotes

1963, American University speech
Context: I have, therefore, chosen this time and this place to discuss a topic on which ignorance too often abounds and the truth is too rarely perceived — yet it is the most important topic on earth: world peace. What kind of peace do I mean? What kind of peace do we seek? Not a Pax Americana enforced on the world by American weapons of war. Not the peace of the grave or the security of the slave. I am talking about genuine peace, the kind of peace that makes life on earth worth living, the kind that enables men and nations to grow and to hope and to build a better life for their children — not merely peace for Americans but peace for all men and women — not merely peace in our time but peace for all time.

“A chorus of voices, the past alive in everything, that sea upon which the present tossed and rode.”
Source: All Tomorrow's Parties (2003), Ch. 38 : Vincent Black Lightning, p. 191
Context: If Skinner couldn't tell Fontaine a story about something, Fontaine would make up his own story, read function in the shape of something, read use in the way it was worn down. It seemed to comfort him.
Everything to Fontaine, had a story. Each object, each fragment comprising the built world. A chorus of voices, the past alive in everything, that sea upon which the present tossed and rode. When he'd built Skinner's funicular, the elevator that crawled like a small cable car up the angled iron of the tower, when they old man's hip had gotten too bad to allow him to easily climb, Fontaine had a story about the derivation of each piece. He wove their stories together, applied electricity: the thing rose, clicking, to the hatch in the floor of Skinner's room.

“As a mariner caught in a winter sea, to whom neither lazy Wain nor Moon with friendly radiance shows directions, stands clueless in mid commotion of land and sea, expecting every moment rocks sunk in treacherous shallows, or foaming cliffs with spiky tops to run upon the rearing prow.”
Ac velut hiberno deprensus navita ponto,
cui neque Temo piger neque amico sidere monstrat
Luna vias, medio caeli pelagique tumultu
stat rationis inops, jam jamque aut saxa malignis
expectat summersa vadis aut vertice acuto
spumantes scopulos erectae incurrere prorae.
Source: Thebaid, Book I, Line 370

“Superstition, like true love, needs time to grow and reflect upon itself.”
Source: The Stand

Matt. xxvii, 25
Sermon Four, p. 79
Sermon Four