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.
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. CUMMINGSIf a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little – somebody who is obsessed by Making.
E. E. CUMMINGSWhenever 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. CUMMINGSOne’s not half two. It’s two are halves of one.
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. 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. CUMMINGSYours is the light by which my spirit’s born: – you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.
E. E. CUMMINGSWe 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. CUMMINGSSomeone 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. CUMMINGSAnd now you are and I am and we’re a mystery which will never happen again.
E. E. CUMMINGSExisting’s tricky:but to live’s a gift.
E. E. CUMMINGSI 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. CUMMINGSSomeone 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. CUMMINGSOnce we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit.
E. E. CUMMINGSLove is the whole and more than all.
E. E. CUMMINGSWell, write poetry, for God’s sake, it’s the only thing that matters.
E. E. CUMMINGS