So that's life, then: things are they are? It picks its way on the blue guitar. A million people on one string? And all their manner in the thing, An… - Wallace Stevens

The nothingness was a nakedness, a point,</p>Beyond which fact could not progress as fact. Thereon the learning of the man conceived Once more night’s pale illuminations, gold Beneath, far underneath, the surface of His eye and audible in the mountain of His ear, the very material of his mind.

The poet is a god, or, the young poet is a god. The old poet is a tramp.

Let’s see the very thing and nothing else. Let’s see it with the hottest fire of sight. Burn everything not part of it to ash. Trace the gold sun about the whitened sky Without evasion by a single metaphor. Look at it in its essential barrenness And say this, this is the centre that I seek.