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it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful
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
Puddle
Puddles
Spring
Wonderful
World
More quotes by e. e. cummings
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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And the reason that i laugh and breathe is oh love
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Your slightest look easily will unclose me, though I have closed myself as fingers, you open petal by petal myself a Spring opens her first rose.
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You and I are more than you and I because it's we.
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great men burn bridges before they come to them
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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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Buffalo Bill's defunct
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Well, write poetry, for God's sake, it's the only thing that matters.
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i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
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Progress is a comfortable disease.
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what if a much of a which of a wind gives the truth to summer's lie bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun and yanks immortal stars awry?
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An artist, a man, a failure, must proceed.
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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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Because you aren't afraid to kiss the dirt (and consequently dare to climb the sky)
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...sunlight is (life and day are)only loaned:whereas night is given(night and death and the rain are givenand given is how beautifully snow)
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and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
e. e. cummings
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It's always our self we find in the sea.
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When god decided to invent everything he took one reath bigger than a circustent and everything began
e. e. cummings
I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more.
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
