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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.
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
Spring
Sweet
Beauty
Prodded
Often
Thumb
Science
Naughty
Earth
Thumbs
Spontaneous
Thou
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Unbeing dead isn't being alive.
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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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Whatever's merely willful, and not miraculous (be never it so skilful) must wither fail and cease - but better than to grow beauty knows no.
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twice I have lived forever in a smile
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here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
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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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Like the burlesque comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement.
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nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
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At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.
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And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart I carry your heart [ i carry it in my heart ]
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If at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed.
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True wars are never won.
e. e. cummings
A pretty girl who is naked / is worth a million statues
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.
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No evil is so worse than worst you fall in hate with love.
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Buffalo Bill's defunct
e. e. cummings
Kisses are a better fate than wisdom.
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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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Seeming's enough for slaves of space and time - ours is the now and here of freedom. Come.
e. e. cummings
