E. E. Cummings Quotes

American author (1894–1962)

Edward Estlin Cummings (October 14 1894 – September 3 1962) was an American poet. Because of the typography used in many of his works it has become a widespread tradition for his name to be presented in lower case as e. e. cummings, though he himself continued to use uppercase letters in signing his own name.

From: Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Birth Name: Edward Estlin Cummings

Alternative Names: e. e. cummings • E. Estlin Cummings • e e cummings • EE cummings • Edward Eatlin Cummings

From Wikidata (CC0)

We doctors know a hopeless case if — listen: there's a hell of a good universe next door; let's go

pity this busy monster, manunkind, not. Progress is a comfortable disease: your victim (death and life safely beyond) plays with the bigness of his littleness

plato told him:he couldn't believe it(jesus</p>told him;he wouldn't believe
itlao tsze certainly told him,and general
(yes mam) sherman; and even
(believe it
or not)you told him:i told him;we told him
(he didn't believe it,no sir)

a politician is an arse upon which everyone has sat except a man

on forever's very now we stand

measureless our pure living complete love whose doom is beauty and its fate to grow

love is more thicker than forget ...it is more sane and sunly and more it cannot die than all the sky which only is higher than the sky

and nothing quite so least as truth —i say though hate were why men breathe— because my father lived his soul love is the whole and more than all

my father moved through dooms of love through sames of am through haves of give singing each morning out of each night my father moved through depths of height

Women and men (both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain... all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep

ye!the godless are the dull and the dull are the damned

It may take two people to make a really beautiful mistake

A distinct throat. Which breathes. A head: small, smaller than a flower. With eyes and with lips. Lips more slender than light; a smile how carefully and slowly made, a smile made entirely of dream. Eyes deeper than Spring. Eyes darker than Spring, more new . . . These, these are the further miracles . . . the breasts. Thighs. The All which is beyond comprehension — the All which is perpetually discovered, yet undiscovered: sexual, sweet, Alive!

Here life is, moves; faintly. A wrist. The faint throb of blood, precise, miraculous . . . And they talk of dying! The blood delicately descending and ascending: making an arm. Being an arm. The warm flesh, the dim slender flesh filled with life, slenderer than a miracle, frailer . . . These are the shoulders through which fell the world. The dangerous shoulders of Eve, in god's entire garden newly strolling.

life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis

E. E. Cummings Quotes

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