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Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?
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
People
Keen
Sky
Filled
Moon
City
Coming
Cities
Balloon
Pretty
Balloons
More quotes by e. e. cummings
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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I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness
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An artist, a man, a failure, must proceed.
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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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guilt is the cause of more marauders than history's most obscene disauders
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The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
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And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms
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Now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened.
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Take the so-called standard of living. What do most people mean by living? They don’t mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science, in its finite but unbounded wisdom, has succeeded in selling their wives.
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Sweet springtime is my time is your time is our time for springtime is love time and viva sweet love.
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Love is a place & through this place of love move (with brightness of peace) all places yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skillfully curled) all worlds
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i do not know what it is about you that closes and opensonly something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
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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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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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O sweet spontaneous earth how often has the naughty thumb of science prodded thy beauty thou answereth them only with spring.
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yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skilfully curled) all worlds
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Be of love a little more careful than of anything.
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nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility
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Well, write poetry, for God's sake, it's the only thing that matters.
e. e. cummings
Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.
e. e. cummings
