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The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself.

E. E. Cummings

The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Change Nature Soft Touch
I’d rather have two good friends, than 500,000 admirers.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Choice Friendship Goodness Myself Worth
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.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Believe Experience Human Listening Ourselves Reveal Risk Spirit Touch Trust Value Wonderful Worth
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.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Fingers Flower Home Ocean Stars Thinking Tongue
As small as a world as large as alone.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Alone Deep Nature Reality Wonderful World
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Bird Choice Dance Learning Myself Sing Stars Teaching
To destroy is always the first step in any creation.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Creation Deep Destroy Wisdom
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.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Deep Eyes Myself Rose Understand Voice
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.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Believe Feeling Moments People Thinking Yourself
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

Creation Existence Experience Movement Poet Possible
Existing’s tricky:but to live’s a gift.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Existence Gift Live Trick
If a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little – somebody who is obsessed by Making.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Creation Obsession Poet Writing
The eyes of my eyes are opened.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Deep Eyes Myself One Liner Open
The three saddest things are the ill wanting to be well, the poor wanting to be rich, and the constant traveler saying ‘anywhere but here’.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Health Money Place Poor Rich Sad Sick Travel
Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: – you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Born Light Moon Myself Spirit Stars Sun
The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
E. E. CUMMINGS

Day Laughter Oneself Wasted Time

The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself.

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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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Popular Authors

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