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Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away?
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
Really
World
Unreal
Breathing
Perhaps
Away
More quotes by e. e. cummings
someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then) they said their nevers they slept their dream
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one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was
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how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any lifted from the no of all nothing human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
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So far as I am concerned, poetry and every other art was, is, and forever will be strictly and distinctly a question of individuality.
e. e. cummings
since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid
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Let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid down with ought with because with every brain which thinks it thinks, nor dares to feel.
e. e. cummings
The first step to expanding your reality is to discard the tendency to exclude things from possibility.
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As small as a world as large as alone.
e. e. cummings
If at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed.
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when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because.
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An intelligent person fights for lost causes, realizing that others are merely effects
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the poems to come are for you and for me and are not for mostpeople... you and i are human beings mostpeople are snobs.
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Nothing recedes like progress.
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Lessons hide in his wrinkles. Bells ding in the oldness of eyes. Did he by, any chance, tell children that there are such monstrous things as peace and goodwill...a corrupter of youth no doubt.
e. e. cummings
great men burn bridges before they come to them
e. e. cummings
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
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In just - Spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee
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At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.
e. e. cummings
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
e. e. cummings
Now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened.
e. e. cummings
