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The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.
e. e. cummings
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e. e. cummings
Age: 67 †
Born: 1894
Born: October 14
Died: 1962
Died: September 3
Novelist
Painter
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Cambridge
Massachusetts
e. e. cummings
Edward Estlin Cummings
E. Estlin Cummings
e e cummings
EE cummings
Edward Eatlin Cummings
Springtime
Mud
Summer
Spring
Wonderful
Nature
Luscious
World
Puddle
Puddles
More quotes by e. e. cummings
When skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man
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And now you are and I am and we're a mystery which will never happen again.
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Laughing is just another way of showing people your wise
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Only by you my heart always moves.
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there's time for laughing and there's time for crying— for hoping for despair for peace for longing —a time for growing and a time for dying: a night for silence and a day for singing but more than all(as all your more than eyes tell me)there is a time for timelessness
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The first step to expanding your reality is to discard the tendency to exclude things from possibility.
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There is no music unless the drum and the drummer are one.
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To like an individual because he's black is just as insulting as to dislike him because he isn't white.
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a man who had fallen among thieves lay by the roadside on his back dressed in fifteenthrate ideas wearing a round jeer for a hat
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Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most people?
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Meanwhile myself et cetera lay quietly in the deep mud et cetera (dreaming, et cetera, of your smile eyes knees and of your Etcetera.)
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The hardest challenge is to be yourself in a world where everyone is trying to make you be somebody else.
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Your slightest look easily will unclose me, though I have closed myself as fingers, you open petal by petal myself a Spring opens her first rose.
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that strictly(and how)scienti fic land of supernod where freedom is compulsory and only man is god.
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At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.
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since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid
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We can never be born enough.
e. e. cummings
May my heart always be open to little birds, who are the secrets of living. Whatever they sing is better than to know. And if men should not hear them - then men are old.
e. e. cummings
Lovers alone wear sunlight.
e. e. cummings
...and down they forgot as up they grew.
e. e. cummings