I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance. e. e. cummings More Quotes by e. e. cummings More Quotes From e. e. cummings A world of made is not a world of born e. e. cummings bornmadeworld Lessons hide in his wrinkles. Bells ding in the oldness of eyes. Did he by, any chance, tell children that there are such monstrous things as peace and goodwill...a corrupter of youth no doubt. e. e. cummings wrinkleseyechildren For surely as each November has its April, mysteries only are significant; and one mystery-of-mysteries creates them all: nothing false and possible is love (who's imagined,therefore limitless) love's to giving as to keeping's give; as yes is to if,love is to yes e. e. cummings aprillove-isgiving a connotation of infinity sharpens the temporal splendor of this night when souls which have forgot frivolity in lowliness,noting the fatal flight of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream down eager avenues of lifelessness consider for how much themselves shall gleam, in the poised radiance of perpetualness. When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought is like a woman amorous to be known; and man,whose here is alway worse than naught, feels the tremendous yonder for his own— on such a night the sea through her blind miles of crumbling silence seriously smiles e. e. cummings dreammennight ...sunlight is (life and day are)only loaned:whereas night is given(night and death and the rain are given;and given is how beautifully snow) e. e. cummings rainsnownight Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away? e. e. cummings unrealbreathingworld -Before leaving my room i turn, and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, dear where our heads lived and were. e. e. cummings leavingkissingmorning To like an individual because he's black is just as insulting as to dislike him because he isn't white. e. e. cummings blackinsultingwhite Spring slattern of seasons e. e. cummings eyedreamspring So, when kiss Spring comes e. e. cummings kissingdifferencesspring Your poems are rather hard to understand, whereas your paintings are so easy. Easy? Of course - you paint flowers and girls and sunsets; things that everybody understands. I never met him. Who? Everybody. Did you ever hear of nonrepresentational painting? I am. Pardon me? I am a painter, and painting is nonrepresentational. Not all painting. No: housepainting is representational. And what does a housepainter represent? Ten dollars an hour. In other words, you don't want to be serious - It takes two to be serious. e. e. cummings girlflowerlife 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. e. e. cummings simplicityfailinggrows All ignorance toboggans into know and trudges up to ignorance again. e. e. cummings statisticsignoranceknows 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 e. e. cummings crushchildrenhands the poems to come are for you and for me and are not for mostpeople... you and i are human beings; mostpeople are snobs. e. e. cummings snobhuman-beingshumans suppose Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head. e. e. cummings flowerlife-ismen 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. e. e. cummings cleverheartthinking Your homecoming will be my homecoming e. e. cummings homecoming 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 hateforeverlove-you maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach (to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles and may come home with a smooth rounded stone as small as a world and as big as alone. for whatever we loose (like a you or a me) it is always ourselves we find in the sea. e. e. cummings starshomebeach
