I imagine that yes is the only living thing.
E. E. CUMMINGSI imagine that yes is the only living thing.
E. E. CUMMINGSExisting’s tricky:but to live’s a gift.
E. E. CUMMINGSHere 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)
E. E. CUMMINGSTake the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most people?
E. E. CUMMINGSAmerica makes prodigious mistakes, America has colossal faults, but one thing cannot be denied: America is always on the move. She may be going to Hell, of course, but at least she isn’t standing still.
E. E. CUMMINGSYour head is a living forest full of songbirds.
E. E. CUMMINGSMay 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.
E. E. CUMMINGSYou shall above all things be glad and young.
E. E. CUMMINGSExisting’s tricky:but to live’s a gift.
E. E. CUMMINGSThe symbol of all art is the Prism. The goal is unrealism. The method is destructive. To break up the white light of objective realism, into the secret glories which it contains.
E. E. CUMMINGSDo not hate or fear the artist in yourselves… Honor and love him do not try to possess him. Trust him as nobly as you trust tomorrow. Only the artist in yourself is more truthful than the night.
E. E. CUMMINGSA politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man.
E. E. CUMMINGSYou and I are more than you and I because it’s we.
E. E. CUMMINGSOnce we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit.
E. E. CUMMINGSThe 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.
E. E. CUMMINGSYou have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.
E. E. CUMMINGS