As small as a world as large as alone.
E. E. CUMMINGSSweet springtime is my time is your time is our time for springtime is love time and viva sweet love.
More E. E. Cummings Quotes
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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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To be nobody-but-yourself – in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else – means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
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Be of love a little more careful than of anything.
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Lovers alone wear sunlight.
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I imagine that yes is the only living thing.
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A pretty girl who is naked is worth a million statues.
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I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness.
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It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
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A politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man.
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The eyes of my eyes are opened.
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The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.
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A pretty girl who is naked is worth a million statues.
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Nobody loses all the time.
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You and I are more than you and I because it’s we.
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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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As small as a world as large as alone.
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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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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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Notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening.
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The hardest challenge is to be yourself in a world where everyone is trying to make you be somebody else.
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It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
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We can never be born enough.
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May my heart always be open to little birds, who are the secrets of living. Whatever they sing is better than to know. And if men should not hear them – then men are old.
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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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Unbeing dead isn’t being alive.
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Suppose Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.
E. E. CUMMINGS