And now you are and I am and we’re a mystery which will never happen again.
E. E. CUMMINGSAnd now you are and I am and we’re a mystery which will never happen again.
E. E. CUMMINGSIf a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little – somebody who is obsessed by Making.
E. E. CUMMINGSI’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
E. E. CUMMINGSSuppose Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.
E. E. CUMMINGSWe can never be born enough.
E. E. CUMMINGSOnly by you my heart always moves.
E. E. CUMMINGSA 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. CUMMINGSIt is with roses and locomotives that my poems are competing.
E. E. CUMMINGSI’d rather have two good friends, than 500,000 admirers.
E. E. CUMMINGSThe snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.
E. E. CUMMINGSRemember one thing only: that it’s you-nobody else-who determines your destiny and decides your fate. Nobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else.
E. E. CUMMINGSThe Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself.
E. E. CUMMINGSTo 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.
E. E. CUMMINGSBecause you aren’t afraid to kiss the dirt (and consequently dare to climb the sky)
E. E. CUMMINGSNobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else.
E. E. CUMMINGSThe eyes of my eyes are opened.
E. E. CUMMINGS