Lovers alone wear sunlight.
E. E. CUMMINGSIf a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little – somebody who is obsessed by Making.
More E. E. Cummings Quotes
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If a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little – somebody who is obsessed by Making.
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Notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening.
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You 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.
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Remember 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.
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America 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.
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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.
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A pretty girl who is naked is worth a million statues.
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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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I’d rather have two good friends, than 500,000 admirers.
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Your head is a living forest full of songbirds.
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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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Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.
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Only by you my heart always moves.
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A pretty girl who is naked is worth a million statues.
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Lovers alone wear sunlight.
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I’d rather have two good friends, than 500,000 admirers.
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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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Notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening.
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The eyes of my eyes are opened.
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Somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond.
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And the reason that i laugh and breathe is oh love.
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Twice I have lived forever in a smile.
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And now you are and I am and we’re a mystery which will never happen again.
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Nobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else.
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Unbeing dead isn’t being alive.
E. E. CUMMINGS