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The sweet small clumsy feet of april came into the ragged meadow of my soul.
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
Clumsy
Meadows
April
Sweet
Feet
Small
Came
Meadow
Soul
Ragged
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Time's a strange fellow more he gives than takes (and he takes all).
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Kisses are a better fate than wisdom.
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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 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.
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The only man, woman, or child who wrote a simple declarative sentence with seven grammatical errors is dead.
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An intelligent person fights for lost causes, realizing that others are merely effects
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It takes three to make a child.
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XVII Lady, i will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene (lady i will touch you with my mind.)Touch you,that is all, lightly and you utterly will become with infinite care the poem which i do not write.
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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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Buffalo Bill's defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus he was a handsome man and what i want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death
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...remember one thing only: that it's you-nobody else-who determines your destiny and decides your fate. Nobody else can be alive for you nor can you be alive for anybody else.
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nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility
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Now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened.
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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.
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The hardest fight a man has to fight is to live in a world where every single day someone is trying to make you someone you do not want to be--
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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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Listen there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go.
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Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most people?
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the other guineahen died of a broken heart and we came to New York. I used to sit at a table,drawing wings with a pencil that kept breaking and i kept remembering how your mind looked when it slept for several years,to wake up asking why. So then you turned into a photograph of somebody who’s trying not to laugh at somebody who’s trying not to cry
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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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