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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
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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
Trump
Drives
Beauty
Magnificent
Sound
Bright
Stills
Mad
Witchery
Still
Forth
Odour
Thing
Wild
Herald
Men
Air
Forgetfulness
Spring
April
More quotes by e. e. cummings
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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when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because.
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-tomorrow is our permanent address and there they’ll scarcely find us(if they do, we’ll move away still further:into now
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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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in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems
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You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.
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For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It's always our self we find in the sea.
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Equality is what does not exist among mortals.
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Every artist's strictly illimitable country is himself. An artist who plays that country false has committed suicide and even a good lawyer cannot kill the dead. But a human being who's true to himself - whoever himself may be - is immortal and all the atomic bombs of all the antiartists in spacetime will never civilize immortality.
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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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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.
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I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
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someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then) they said their nevers they slept their dream
e. e. cummings
O sweet spontaneous earth
e. e. cummings
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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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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i remember we all cried like the Missouri when my Uncle Sol's coffin lurched because somebody pressed a button (and down went my uncle Sol and started a worm farm)
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And the reason that i laugh and breathe is oh love
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Buffalo Bill's defunct
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At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.
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