Quotes from William Carlos Williams

Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses — The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end — of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits.

The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.

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.

It is almost impossible to state what one in fact believes, because it is almost impossible to hold a belief and to define it at the same time.

Time is a storm in which we are all lost.

Divorce is the sign of knowledge in our time.

The weight of love Has buoyed me up Till my head Knocks against the sky.

Love is unworldly and nothing comes of it but love.

What "love" is I don't know if it's not the response of our deepest natures to one another.

As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world

Most of the beauties of travel are due to the strange hours we keep to see them

Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze.

To make a start, out of particulars and make them general, rolling up the sum, by defective means Sniffing the trees, just another dog among a lot of dogs.What else is there? And to do?

The business of love is cruelty which, by our wills, we transform to live together.

Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood's edge

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

I tried to put a bird in a cage. O fool that I am! For the bird was Truth. Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put Truth in a cage!

Poe gives the sense for the first time in America, that literature is serious, not a matter of courtesy but of truth.

Sure love is cruel and selfish and totally obtuse-- at least, blinded by the light, young love is.

Liquor and love rescue the cloudy sense banish its despair give it a home.

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

So different, this man And this woman: A stream flowing In a field.

All women are not Helen, I know that, but have Helen in their hearts.

In summer, the song sings itself.