Your head is a living forest full of songbirds.
E. E. CUMMINGSAs small as a world as large as alone.
More E. E. Cummings Quotes
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I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses.
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An intelligent person fights for lost causes, realizing that others are merely effects.
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I’d rather have two good friends, than 500,000 admirers.
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I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
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Existing’s tricky:but to live’s a gift.
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The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.
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The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself.
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The theory of the free press is not that the truth will be presented completely or perfectly in any one instance, but that the truth will emerge from free discussion.
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Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.
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Nobody loses all the time.
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As small as a world as large as alone.
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Lovers alone wear sunlight.
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Well, write poetry, for God’s sake, it’s the only thing that matters.
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Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear.
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Here’s to opening and upward… and to yourself and up with you and up with and up with laughing.
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I imagine that yes is the only living thing.
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Kisses are a better fate than wisdom.
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Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: – you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.
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We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.
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It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
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Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.
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I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses.
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May my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living.
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Somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence; in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near.
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It is with roses and locomotives that my poems are competing.
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Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.
E. E. CUMMINGS