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I spill my bright incalculable 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
Bright
Soul
Incalculable
Spill
Spills
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When skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man
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Seeming's enough for slaves of space and time - ours is the now and here of freedom. Come.
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The mind is its own beautiful prisoner. Mind looked long at the sticky moon opening in dusk her new wings then decently hanged himself,one afternoon. The last thing he saw was you naked amid unnaked things.
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There is no music unless the drum and the drummer are one.
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So, when kiss Spring comes we'll kiss each kiss other on kiss the kiss lips because tic clocks tock don't make a toctic difference to kisskiss you and to kiss me.
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great men burn bridges before they come to them
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maybe god is a child ‘s hand)very carefully bring -ing to you and to me(and quite with out crushing)the papery weightless diminutive world with a hole in it out of which demons with wings would be streaming if something had(maybe they couldn’t agree)not happened(and floating- ly int o
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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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nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
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All ignorance toboggans into know and trudges up to ignorance again.
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Like the burlesque comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement.
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The sweet small clumsy feet of april came into the ragged meadow of my soul.
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Here's to opening and upward... and to yourself and up with you and up with and up with laughing.
e. e. cummings
Time's a strange fellow more he gives than takes (and he takes all).
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all nothing's only our hugest home the most who die, the more we live
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Now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened.
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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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Private property began the instant somebody had a mind of his own.
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No evil is so worse than worst you fall in hate with love.
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Do not hate or fear the artist in yourselves... Honor and love him...do not try to possess him. Trust him as nobly as you trust tomorrow. Only the artist in yourself is more truthful than the night.
e. e. cummings
