It was autumn and falling stars Covered the shrivelled forms Crouched in the moonlight. — Wallace Stevens
The whole race is a poet that writes down / The eccentric propositions of its fate. — Wallace Stevens
A violent order is disorder; and a great disorder is an order. These two things are one. — Wallace Stevens
Tinsel in February, tinsel in August. There are things in a man besides his reason. — Wallace Stevens
My tribute to mystical, magical trees that the Cherokee called “standing people. . . .” — Wallace Stevens
