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E. E. Cummings quotes - page 6
I love you much most beautiful darling more than anyone on the earth and I like you better than everything in the sky.
E. E. Cummings
his lips drink water but his heart drinks wine.
E. E. Cummings
Your head is a living forest full of songbirds.
E. E. Cummings
may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living.
E. E. Cummings
Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap of death Humanity i hate you.
E. E. Cummings
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.
E. E. Cummings
And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms.
E. E. Cummings
Laughing is just another way of showing people your wise.
E. E. Cummings
who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you.
E. E. Cummings
Your homecoming will be my homecoming.
E. E. Cummings
it's no use trying to pretend that mostpeople and ourselves are alike. Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than thesquarerootofminusone. You and I are human beings; mostpeople are snobs.
E. E. Cummings
in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems.
E. E. Cummings
If 180 million people want to be undead, that's their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.
E. E. Cummings
the moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy.
E. E. Cummings
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility.
E. E. Cummings
Always it's Spring)and everyone's in love and flowers pick themselves.
E. E. Cummings
The Symbol of all Art is the Prism. The goal is destructive. To break up the white light of objective realism into the secret glories it contains.
E. E. Cummings
Like the burlesk comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement.
E. E. Cummings
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.
E. E. Cummings
a poet is someone who is abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement. Which is to say the highest form of concentration possible: fascination; to report on the electrifying experience of being.
E. E. Cummings
hate blows a bubble of despair into hugeness world system universe and bang -fear buries a tomorrow under woe and up comes yesterday most green and young.
E. E. Cummings
what time is it? its is by every star a different time, and each most falsely true...
E. E. Cummings
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