Wallace Stevens
In 1955, Wallace Stevens received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, one of several major awards that came to him during his career as a poet working alongside a full-time professional life in law and insurance. That same year, on August 2, he died in Hartford, Connecticut, the city where he had spent much of his working life.
Stevens was born on October 2, 1879, in Reading. He went on to study at Harvard University and then at New York Law School, training that set him on a path as a lawyer. His professional life eventually took him to Hartford, where he worked as an executive for an insurance company in Connecticut. He held that role for most of his adult life, while also writing poetry, journalism, and plays.
As an American modernist poet writing in English, Stevens produced work that includes the collection The Auroras of Autumn. His output extended beyond verse — he also worked as a journalist and a playwright — but it was his poetry that brought him recognition from award committees over the course of his career. In addition to the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, he received the National Book Award, the Bollingen Prize, and the Robert Frost Medal. Each of these came to a man who was simultaneously maintaining a career as a lawyer and insurance executive, a combination that marked his life in an uncommon way.
Stevens died in Hartford on August 2, 1955, the same year the Pulitzer arrived. By then he had accumulated four significant literary awards: the National Book Award, the Bollingen Prize, the Robert Frost Medal, and the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. His collection The Auroras of Autumn remains among the works attached to his name, and the record of prizes he received in his lifetime gives some concrete measure of how his poetry was received during his years as both a practicing lawyer and a writer.
Quotes by Wallace Stevens
Wallace Stevens's insights on:

One sparrow is worth a thousand gulls, / When it sings. The gull sits on chimney-tops. / He mocks the guinea, challenges / The crow, inciting various modes. / The sparrow requites one, without intent.

The house was quiet and the world was calm. / The reader became the book; and the summer night / Was like the conscious being of the book / The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.

The yellow glistens. It glistens with various yellows, Citrons, oranges and greens.Flowering over the skin.

One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow

How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.

Day after day, throughout the winter, We hardened ourselves to live by bluest reason In a world of wind and frost.

One sparrow is worth a thousand gulls, When it sings. The gull sits on chimney-tops. He mocks the guinea, challenges The crow, inciting various modes. The sparrow requites one, without intent.

The magnificent cause of being, the imagination, the one reality in this imagined world.
