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Progress is a comfortable disease.
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
Politics
Fear
Rage
Atheism
Disease
Comfortable
Progress
More quotes by e. e. cummings
Spring is like a perhaps hand
e. e. cummings
Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.
e. e. cummings
Time's a strange fellow more he gives than takes (and he takes all).
e. e. cummings
The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.
e. e. cummings
more each particular person is(my love) alive than every world can understand and now you are and i am now and we're a mystery that will never happen again, a miracle which has never happened before and shining this our now must come to then
e. e. cummings
Here's to opening and upward... and to yourself and up with you and up with and up with laughing.
e. e. cummings
Exists no miracle mightier than this: to feel.
e. e. cummings
here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
e. e. cummings
And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart I carry your heart [ i carry it in my heart ]
e. e. cummings
Life ,for eternal us,is now
e. e. cummings
O sweet spontaneous earth how often has the naughty thumb of science prodded thy beauty thou answereth them only with spring.
e. e. cummings
O gouvernment francais, I think it was not very clever of You to put this terrible doll in La Ferte for when Governments are found dead there is always a little doll on top of them, pulling and tweaking with his little hands to get back at the microscopic knife which sticks firmly in the quiet meat of their hearts.
e. e. cummings
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
e. e. cummings
Always it’s Spring)and everyone’s in love and flowers pick themselves.
e. e. cummings
And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms
e. e. cummings
Because you aren't afraid to kiss the dirt (and consequently dare to climb the sky)
e. e. cummings
The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself.
e. e. cummings
And still the mad magnificent herald Spring assembles beauty from forgetfulness with the wild trump of April:witchery of sound and odour drives the wingless thing man forth in the bright air.
e. e. cummings
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any lifted from the no of all nothing human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
e. e. cummings
when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because.
e. e. cummings
