E E Cummings Quotes

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It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
E.E. Cummings
To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best day and night to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
E.E. Cummings
Unbeing dead isn't being alive.
E.E. Cummings
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It's always our self we find in the sea.
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it (anywhere I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)I want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
E.E. Cummings
Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backward.
E.E. Cummings
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
I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness
E.E. Cummings (Poems, 1923-1954)
Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.
E.E. Cummings
Lovers alone wear sunlight.
E.E. Cummings
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
listen: there’s a hell of a good universe next door; let’s go
E.E. Cummings
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
E.E. Cummings
Unless you love someone, nothing else makes sense.
E.E. Cummings
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
E.E. Cummings
I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.
E.E. Cummings
The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.
E.E. Cummings
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
Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star...
E.E. Cummings
may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone.
E.E. Cummings
life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis
E.E. Cummings
Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit
E.E. Cummings
The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.
E.E. Cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
One's not half of two; two are halves of one.
E.E. Cummings
i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs, and possibly i like the thrill of under me you so quite new.
E.E. Cummings
I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more.
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
most people are perfectly afraid of silence
E.E. Cummings
twice I have lived forever in a smile
E.E. Cummings
since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you; wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry --the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says we are for eachother: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis
E.E. Cummings
And now you are and I am and we're a mystery which will never happen again.
E.E. Cummings
a wind has blown the rain away & the sky away & all the leaves away, & the trees stand. i think i, too, have known autumn too long.
E.E. Cummings
Kisses are a better fate than wisdom.
E.E. Cummings
time is a tree (this life one leaf) but love is the sky and i am for you just so long and long enough
E.E. Cummings
I love you much most beautiful darling more than anyone on the earth and I like you better than everything in the sky.
E.E. Cummings
Dear Jane, Just so you know: e. e. cummings cheated on both of his wives. With prostitutes. Yours, Will Grayson
John Green (Will Grayson, Will Grayson)
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
since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid
E.E. Cummings (E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Revised, Corrected, and Expanded Edition))
his lips drink water but his heart drinks wine
E.E. Cummings
...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.
E.E. Cummings
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.
E.E. Cummings
Only by you my heart always moves.
E.E. Cummings
let it go -- the smashed word broken open vow or the oath cracked length wise -- let it go it was sworn to go let them go -- the truthful liars and the false fair friends and the boths and neithers -- you must let them go they were born to go let all go -- the big small middling tall bigger really the biggest and all things -- let all go dear so comes love
E.E. Cummings
Your head is a living forest full of songbirds.
E.E. Cummings
Humanity I love you because when you're hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink.
E.E. Cummings
We can never be born enough.
E.E. Cummings
l(a le af fa ll s)o ne li ne ss
E.E. Cummings
when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
Anybody can learn to think, or believe, or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel... the moment you feel, you're 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. Cummings (E. E. Cummings: A Miscellany Revised)
may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living whatever they sing is better than to know and if men should not hear them men are old may my mind stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple and even if it's sunday may i be wrong for whenever men are right they are not young and may myself do nothing usefully and love yourself so more than truly there's never been quite such a fool who could fail pulling all the sky over him with one smile
E.E. Cummings (E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Revised, Corrected, and Expanded Edition))
Life is not a paragraph, and death is no parenthesis. (This is a reference to an E.E. Cummings poem within the author's work)
Paula Hawkins (The Girl on the Train)
may I be I is the only prayer--not may I be great or good or beautiful or wise or strong.
E.E. Cummings
Knowledge is a polite word for dead but not buried imagination.
E.E. Cummings
may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living
E.E. Cummings (Him)
love is thicker than forget more thinner than recall more seldom than a wave is wet more frequent than to fail it is most mad and moonly and less it shall unbe than all the sea which only is deeper than the sea love is less always than to win less never than alive less bigger than the least begin less littler than forgive it is most sane and sunly and more it cannot die than all the sky which only is higher than the sky
E.E. Cummings
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (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) nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands -excerpt of #35 from "100 Selected Poems
E.E. Cummings
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (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) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
XVII Lady, i will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch until you give me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene (lady i will touch you with my mind.)Touch you,that is all, lightly and you utterly will become with infinite care the poem which i do not write.
E.E. Cummings
Love is the whole and more than all.
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
Love is a place & through this place of love move (with brightness of peace) all places yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skillfully curled) all worlds
E.E. Cummings
we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph and death i think is no parenthesis
E.E. Cummings
You are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing.
E.E. Cummings
in time of daffodils(who know the goal of living is to grow) forgetting why,remember how in time of lilacs who proclaim the aim of waking is to dream, remember so(forgetting seem) in time of roses(who amaze our now and here with paradise) forgetting if,remember yes in time of all sweet things beyond whatever mind may comprehend, remember seek(forgetting find) and in a mystery to be (when time from time shall set us free) forgetting me,remember me
E.E. Cummings
Now the ears of my ears are awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened.
E.E. Cummings
Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap of death Humanity i hate you
E.E. Cummings
here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
E.E. Cummings
may i feel said he (i'll squeal said she just once said he) it's fun said she (may i touch said he how much said she a lot said he) why not said she (let's go said he not too far said she what's too far said he where you are said she) may i stay said he (which way said she like this said he if you kiss said she may i move said he is it love said she) if you're willing said he (but you're killing said she but it's life said he but your wife said she now said he) ow said she (tiptop said he don't stop said she oh no said he) go slow said she (cccome?said he ummm said she) you're divine!said he (you are Mine said she)
E.E. Cummings
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
E.E. Cummings
i imagine that yes is the only living thing.
E.E. Cummings
i will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves of my body
E.E. Cummings
Be of love(a little) More careful Than everything
E.E. Cummings
love is a deeper season than reason; my sweet one
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
Laughing is just another way of showing people your wise
E.E. Cummings (AnOther E.E. Cummings)
great men burn bridges before they come to them
E.E. Cummings
who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you
E.E. Cummings
who knows if the moon's a balloon,coming out of a keen city in the sky--filled with pretty people? ( and if you and I should get into it,if they should take me and take you into their balloon, why then we'd go up higher with all the pretty people than houses and steeples and clouds: go sailing away and away sailing into a keen city which nobody's ever visited,where always it's Spring)and everyone's in love and flowers pick themselves
E.E. Cummings (Collected Poems)
And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms
E.E. Cummings
love is the every only god
E.E. Cummings
E.E Cummings wrote, "To be nobody-but-yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody but yourself - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight- and never stop fighting.
Brené Brown (The Gifts of Imperfection)
anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did 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 children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then)they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes. Women and men (both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
Seeker Of Truth seeker of truth follow no path all paths lead where truth is here
E.E. Cummings
I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air.
E.E. Cummings
as small as a world and as large as alone For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
E.E. Cummings
It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. —E.E. CUMMINGS
Jandy Nelson (I'll Give You the Sun)
Such was a poet and shall be and is -who'll solve the depths of horror to defend a sunbeam's architecture with his life: and carve immortal jungles of despair to hold a mountain's heartbeat in his hand.
E.E. Cummings
(existing's tricky:but to live's a gift)
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
-tomorrow is our permanent address and there they’ll scarcely find us(if they do, we’ll move away still further:into now
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: they are by somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn, a human being.
E.E. Cummings
That which we die for lives as wholly as that which we live for dies.
E.E. Cummings
If "If freckles were lovely, and day was night, And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie, Life would be delight,-- But things couldn't go right For in such a sad plight I wouldn't be I. If earth was heaven and now was hence, And past was present, and false was true, There might be some sense But I'd be in suspense For on such a pretense You wouldn't be you. If fear was plucky, and globes were square, And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee Things would seem fair,-- Yet they'd all despair, For if here was there We wouldn't be we.
E.E. Cummings
Your homecoming will be my homecoming
E.E. Cummings
Always it’s Spring)and everyone’s in love and flowers pick themselves.
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
the mind is its own beautiful prisoner. Mind looked long at the sticky moon opening in dusk her new wings then decently hanged himself,one afternoon. The last thing he saw was you naked amid unnaked things...
E.E. Cummings
dive for dreams or a slogan may topple you (trees are their roots and wind is wind) trust your heart if the seas catch fire (and live by love though the stars walk backward) honour the past but welcome the future (and dance your death away at this wedding) never mind a world with its villains or heroes (for god likes girls and tomorrow and the earth)
E.E. Cummings
in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
feeling is first,
E.E. Cummings
Tumbling-hair picker of buttercups violets dandelions And the big bullying daisies through the field wonderful with eyes a little sorry Another comes also picking flowers
E.E. Cummings (Poems, 1905 1962)
love being such, or such, the normal corners of your heart will never guess how much my wonderful jealousy is dark
E.E. Cummings (E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Revised, Corrected, and Expanded Edition))
it's no use trying to pretend that mostpeople and ourselves are alike. Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than thesquarerootofminusone. You and I are human beings; mostpeople are snobs.
E.E. Cummings
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
E.E. Cummings
If a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little - somebody who is obsessed by Making.
E.E. Cummings
it may not always be so; and i say that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch his heart, as mine in time not far away; if on another's face your sweet hair lay in such a silence as i know,or such great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; if this should be, i say if this should be- you of my heart, send me a little word; that i may go unto him, and take his hands, saying, Accept all happiness from me. Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
E.E. Cummings
sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetime and viva sweet love (all the merry little birds are flying in the floating in the very spirits singing in are winging in the blossoming) lovers go and lovers come awandering awondering but any two are perfectly alone there's nobody else alive (such a sky and such a sun i never knew and neither did you and everybody never breathed quite so many kinds of yes) not a tree can count his leaves each herself by opening but shining who by thousands mean only one amazing thing (secretly adoring shyly tiny winging darting floating merry in the blossoming always joyful selves are singing) sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetime and viva sweet love
E.E. Cummings
down with hell and heaven and all the religious fuss infinity pleased our parents one inch looks good to us
E.E. Cummings
If 180 million people want to be undead, that’s their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.
E.E. Cummings
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility
E.E. Cummings
What if a dawn of a doom of a dream bites this universe in two, peels forever out of his grave, and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence; in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near
E.E. Cummings
nothing proving or sick or partial. Nothing false,nothing difficult or easy or small or colossal. Nothing ordinary or extraordinary,nothing emptied or filled,real or unreal;nothing feeble and known or clumsy and guessed. Everywhere tints childrening, innocent spontaneous,true. Nowhere possibly what flesh and impossibly such a garden,but actually flowers which breasts are among the very mouths of light. Nothing believed or doubted; brain over heart, surface:nowhere hating or to fear;shadow, mind without soul. Only how measureless cool flames of making;only each other building always distinct selves of mutual entirely opening;only alive. Never the murdered finalities of wherewhen and yesno,impotent nongames of wrongright and rightwrong;never to gain or pause,never the soft adventure of undoom,greedy anguishes and cringing ecstasies of inexistence; never to rest and never to have:only to grow. Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.
E.E. Cummings
Here's to opening and upward... and to yourself and up with you and up with and up with laughing.
E.E. Cummings
The first step to expanding your reality is to discard the tendency to exclude things from possibility.
E.E. Cummings
the moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy
E.E. Cummings
maggie and milly and molly and may" maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach(to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
E.E. Cummings (E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Revised, Corrected, and Expanded Edition))
there's time for laughing and there's time for crying— for hoping for despair for peace for longing —a time for growing and a time for dying: a night for silence and a day for singing but more than all(as all your more than eyes tell me)there is a time for timelessness
E.E. Cummings
you said Is there anything which is dead or alive more beautiful than my body,to have in your fingers (trembling ever so little)? Looking into your eyes Nothing,i said,except the air of spring smelling of never and forever. ....and through the lattice which moved as if a hand is touched by a hand(which moved as though fingers touch a girl's breast, lightly) Do you believe in always,the wind said to the rain I am too busy with my flowers to believe,the rain answered
E.E. Cummings
Awake,chaos:we have napped.
E.E. Cummings (Complete Poems, 1913-1962)
...and down they forgot as up they grew.
E.E. Cummings
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 rib cage.
E.E. Cummings
mr youse needn't be so spry concernin questions arty each has his tastes but as for i i likes a certain party gimme the he-man's solid bliss for youse ideas i'll match youse a pretty girl who naked is is worth a million statues
E.E. Cummings
one pierced moment whiter than the rest -turning from the tremendous lie of sleep i watch the roses of the day grow deep.
E.E. Cummings
An intelligent person fights for lost causes, realizing that others are merely effects
E.E. Cummings
i shall imagine life is not worth dying,if (and when)roses complain their beauties are in vain but though mankind persuades itself that every weed's a rose,roses(you feel certain)will only smile
E.E. Cummings (E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Revised, Corrected, and Expanded Edition))
Damn everything but the circus! ...damn everything that is grim, dull, motionless, unrisking, inward turning, damn everything that won't get into the circle, that won't enjoy. That won't throw it's heart into the tension, surprise, fear and delight of the circus, the round world, the full existence...
E.E. Cummings
Her handwriting was curious — small sharp little letters with no capitals (who did she think she was, e. e. cummings?).
Erich Segal (Love Story (Love Story, #1))
Nobody loses all the time.
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
The Symbol of all Art is the Prism. The goal is destructive. To break up the white light of objective realism into the secret glories it contains.
E.E. Cummings
Damn everything but the circus!. . .The average 'painter' 'sculptor' 'poet' 'composer' 'playwright' is a person who cannot leap through a hoop from the back of a galloping horse, make people laugh with a clown's mouth, orchestrate twenty lions.
E.E. Cummings
Ea nu e în mobile,nu e în lucruri,nu e în atmosferă,nici măcar în străinătate.Ea e în mine,în sângele meu.Cum să scap de ea?În ce fel s-o alung?
Mihail Drumeş (Scrisoare de dragoste)
A bouquet of clumsy words: you know that place between sleep and awake where you’re still dreaming but it’s slowly slipping? I wish we could feel like that more often. I also wish I could click my fingers three times and be transported to anywhere I like. I wish that people didn’t always say ‘just wondering’ when you both know there was a real reason behind them asking. And I wish I could get lost in the stars. Listen, there’s a hell of a good universe next door, let’s go.
E.E. Cummings
...A good Book, has no Ending...
E.E. Cummings
n OthI n g can s urPas s the m y SteR y of s tilLnes s
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
Like the burlesque comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement.
E.E. Cummings
my mind is a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and chipping with sharp fatal tools in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of chrome and ex -ecute strides of cobalt nevertheless i feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am becoming something a little different, in fact myself hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet bellowings
E.E. Cummings
You are tired, (I think) Of the always puzzle of living and doing; And so am I. Come with me, then, And we’ll leave it far and far away— (Only you and I, understand!) 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. But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight, And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart— Open to me! For I will show you the places Nobody knows, And, if you like, The perfect places of Sleep. Ah, come with me! I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon, That floats forever and a day; I’ll sing you the jacinth song Of the probable stars; I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream, Until I find the Only Flower, Which shall keep (I think) your little heart While the moon comes out of the sea.
E.E. Cummings
what time is it?its is by every star a different time,and each most falsely true ...
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear. And whatever is done by only me...is your doing. I fear no fate...for you are my fate, I want no world cause you are my world. Here is the deepest secret no one knows. Here is the root of root and bud of bud & the sky of the sky of the tree of life. Which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide. It's the wonder that keeps the stars apart.
E.E. Cummings
our can'ts were born to happen our mosts have died in more
E.E. Cummings
i am a little church(no great cathedral) far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities --i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest, i am not sorry when sun and rain make april my life is the life of the reaper and the sower; my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving (finding and losing and laughing and crying)children whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness around me surges a miracle of unceasing birth and glory and death and resurrection: over my sleeping self float flaming symbols of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains i am a little church(far from the frantic world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature --i do not worry if longer nights grow longest; i am not sorry when silence becomes singing winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to merciful Him Whose only now is forever: standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence (welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)
E.E. Cummings
wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers.
E.E. Cummings
down with ought with because with every brain that thinks it thinks nor dares to feel.
E.E. Cummings
we're anything brighter than even the sun
E.E. Cummings
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
i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay great happening illimitably earth) how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any--lifted from the no of all nothing--human merely being doubt unimaginable You? (now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
E.E. Cummings
By the way, a gendarme assured me this is not a prison.
E.E. Cummings (The Enormous Room)
hate blows a bubble of despair into hugeness world system universe and bang -fear buries a tomorrow under woe and up comes yesterday most green and young
E.E. Cummings (E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Revised, Corrected, and Expanded Edition))
may i be i is the only prayer--not may i be great or good or beautiful or wise or strong today... may i be me....five foot eleven, brown hair/eyed, smart, serious, happy, frustrated, impatient, joyful, running, sleeping, smiling, eating, trying, believing, listening, being & becoming.
E.E. Cummings
-Before leaving my room i turn, and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, dear where our heads lived and were.
E.E. Cummings
As small as a world as large as alone.
E.E. Cummings
Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go.
E.E. Cummings
the poems to come are for you and for me and are not for mostpeople... you and i are human beings; mostpeople are snobs.
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
(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) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
E.E. Cummings
i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
things which in my mind blossom will stumble beneath a clumsiest disguise appear capable of fragility and indecision
E.E. Cummings
notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening
E.E. Cummings
O sweet spontaneous earth
E.E. Cummings
A world of made is not a world of born
E.E. Cummings
Because you aren't afraid to kiss the dirt (and consequently dare to climb the sky)
E.E. Cummings
my sweet old etcetera aunt lucy during the recent war could and what is more did tell you just what everybody was fighting for, my sister isabel created hundreds (and hundreds) of socks not to mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers etcetera wristers etcetera, my mother hoped that i would die etcetera bravely of course my father used to become hoarse talking about how it was a privilege and if only he could meanwhile my self etcetera lay quietly in the deep mud et cetera (dreaming, et cetera, of Your smile eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
E.E. Cummings
For surely as each November has its April, mysteries only are significant; and one mystery-of-mysteries creates them all: nothing false and possible is love (who's imagined,therefore limitless) love's to giving as to keeping's give; as yes is to if,love is to yes
E.E. Cummings (I : Six Nonlectures)
losing through you what seemed myself, i find selves unimaginably mine.
E.E. Cummings
(and from my thighs which shrug and pant a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she carries in a gesture of her hips)
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
for whenever men are right they are not young
E.E. Cummings (22 and 50 Poems)
suppose Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.
E.E. Cummings
My grandmother thinks it's really funny to put all sorts of things in our - my lunch. I never know what'll be inside: e.e. cummings, flower petals, a handful of buttons. She seems to have lost sight of the original purpose of the brown bag." - Lennie "Or maybe she thinks other forms of nourishment are more important." - Joe
Jandy Nelson (The Sky Is Everywhere)
I jog through the halls and then go upstairs to Jane’s locker and carefully slip the note I wrote last night through the vent: To: The Locker Houdini From: Will Grayson Re: An Expert in the Field of Good Boyfriends? Dear Jane, Just so you know: e. e. cummings cheated on both of his wives. With prostitutes. Yours, Will Grayson
John Green (Will Grayson, Will Grayson)
These are all direct quotes, except every time they use a curse word, I'm going to use the name of a famous American poet: 'You Walt Whitman-ing, Edna St. Vincent Millay! Go Emily Dickinson your mom!' 'Thanks for the advice, you pathetic piece of E.E. Cummings, but I think I'm gonna pass.' 'You Robert Frost-ing Nikki Giovanni! Get a life, nerd. You're a virgin.' 'Hey bro, you need to go outside and get some fresh air into you. Or a girlfriend.' I need to get a girlfriend into me? I think that shows a fundamental lack of comprehension about how babies are made.
John Green
The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
E.E. Cummings
Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away?
E.E. Cummings
I will not kiss your fucking flag
E.E. Cummings (E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Revised, Corrected, and Expanded Edition))
Time cannot children,poets,lovers tell- measure imagine,mystery,a kiss -not though mankind would rather know than feel
E.E. Cummings
Buffalo Bill's defunct who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat Jesus he was a handsome man and what i want to know is how do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death
E.E. Cummings
You and I wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming. Life, for eternal us, is now; and now is much too busy being a little more than everything to seem anything, catastrophic included.
E.E. Cummings (E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962 (Revised, Corrected, and Expanded Edition))
Lessons hide in his wrinkles. Bells ding in the oldness of eyes. Did he by, any chance, tell children that there are such monstrous things as peace and goodwill...a corrupter of youth no doubt...
E.E. Cummings (The Enormous Room)
Lumina aceasta ascunde altceva. Viaţa întreagă ascunde altceva. Aşa cum sunt eu, aşa cum e Biriş, ascundem, fiecare din noi, altceva. Se află ascuns undeva în noi, în adâncul fiinţei noastre. Altceva.
Mircea Eliade (Noaptea de Sânziene)
Esti singur in vartejul suferintei tale si daca vrei sa iesi trebuie sa tragi aer in piept si sa te scufunzi pana se sfarseste. Mai degraba iubeste-o pana cand iubirea ti se face apa si se scurge prin toti porii. Iubeste-o in absenta. Va fi ca si cum te-ai arunca de nebun intr-un zid. De sute, de mii de ori. Neclintit, zidul iti va rupe oasele, pielea ti-o vei zdreli, iti vei sfasia hainele pana cand te vei fi prelins in praful de la baza lui. Un somn lung te va cuprinde, apoi te vei trezi ca dupa un cosmar pe care vei incerca sa-l rememorezi. Soarele diminetii nu-ti va da timp si vei uita. Cu fiecare zi care va trece vei mai fi uitat putin cate putin...Vindeca-te singur. E tot ce poti face pentru tine.
Tudor Chirilă (Exerciţii de echilibru)
Dar te întreb eu acum: de ce totul trebuie trăit? De ce totul trebuie consumat? N-ajunge că sîntem siliți să mîncăm? Trebuie să ne mîncăm și sufletele? Unde scrie asta? Adică cum, nu putem păstra în sufletul nostru și lucruri netrăite? Trebuie neapărat să înghițim tot ce e pe lume? De ce? Ca să avem pe urmă ce vărsa în mormîntul în care o să fim băgați? E o veche întrebare a mea la care rămîn..Am iubit o fată! Nu-mi ajunge? De ce trebuie alta? Și acum ascultă: Am vrut o dată să schimb lumea! Nu-mi ajunge? De ce trebuie s-o iau de la cap și să merg pînă în pînzele albe?
Marin Preda (Marele singuratic (vol. I & II))
Sa fugi de tine o zi, doua, douazeci nu e usor, dar nici imposibil. Faci matematici sau marxism ca S.T.H., faci sionism ca Winkler, citesti carti ca mine, umbli dupa femei sau joci sah, sau te dai cu capul de pereti. Dar intr-o zi, intr-un minut de neatentie, te intalnesti cu tine insuti la un colt de suflet, cum te-ai intalni la un colt de strada cu un creditor de care te-ai ferit zadarnic. Dai ochii cu tine si atunci intelegi cat de inutile sunt toate evadarile din aceasta inchisoare fara ziduri, fara porti si fara gratii, din aceasta inchisoare care este insasi viata ta.
Mihail Sebastian (De două mii de ani; Cum am devenit huligan)
Who can tell truth from falsehood any more? I say it, and you feel it in your hearts: no man or woman on this big small earth. How should our sages miss the mark of life, and our most skillful players lose the game? your hearts will tell you, as my heart has told me: because all know, and no one understands.
E.E. Cummings
i thank You God for most this amazing day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay great happening illimitably earth) how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any---lifted from the no of all nothing---human merely being doubt unimaginably You? (now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) Edward Estlin Cummings
E.E. Cummings (Selected Poems)
i have found what you are like the rain (Who feathers frightened fields with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields easily the pale club of the wind and swirled justly souls of flower strike the air in utterable coolness deeds of gren thrilling light with thinned newfragile yellows lurch and.press --in the woods which stutter and sing And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms;but i should rather than anything have(almost when hugeness will shut quietly)almost, your kiss
E.E. Cummings
Humanity i love you because you would rather black the boots of success than enquire whose soul dangles from his watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both parties and because you unflinchingly applaud all songs containing the words country home and mother when sung at the old howard Humanity i love you because when you're hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink and when you're flush pride keeps you from the pawn shops and because you are continually committing nuisances but more especially in your own house Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap of death Humanity i hate you
E.E. Cummings
A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words. This may sound easy. It isn’t. A lot of people think or believe or know they feel — but that’s thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling — not knowing or believing or thinking. Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because 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. To 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. Cummings (E. E. Cummings: A Miscellany Revised)
Ținea la el! Ei, și? Și el ținea la ea, și unde scrie că lucrul cel mai potrivit care urmau să-l facă ei doi era să-și răpească unul altuia libertatea? Numai pentru că dintre atîția bărbați ți-a plăcut la un moment dat unul singur? Acest moment dat nu e numai un ”moment”, cum spune și cuvîntul, adică ceva trecător, dar mai e și ”dat”, adică impus de împrejurări. Nu e deci clar că valoarea lui dispare îndată ce dispar împrejurările?
Marin Preda (Marele singuratic (vol. I & II))
pity this busy monster, manunkind' 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 --- electrons deify one razorblade into a mountainrange; lenses extend unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish returns on its unself. A world of made is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this fine specimen of hypermagical ultraomnipotence. We doctors know a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell of a good universe next door; let's go
E.E. Cummings
- Nu crezi dumneata în iubire? Nu te atrage iubirea?... - Ba da, mă atrage... Poate că e singurul rost al unei vieţi mărginite, comune, cum e viața noastră. Şi-mi place... dar ştiu că nu durează... că nu corespunde unei realităţi... Îmi place mult să privesc o noapte cu lună... şi uneori stau vreme îndelungată la fereastra mea, privind, dar ştiu bine că luna e altceva decât ceea ce pare... Nu întind mâna s-o prind... E mult şi ceea ce dă, fără intenţie şi sforţare.
Camil Petrescu (Patul lui Procust)
Oamenii sunt de două feluri, unii sunt asemeni unor oglinzi, dacă îţi reflecţi iubirea în ei, o vei primi înapoi. Exact cum faci tu când te priveşti în oglindă, îi oferi o imagine şi ea te răsplăteşte cu alta la fel. Sunt însă şi oameni care nu pot oglindi, e ca şi cum ai încerca să-ţi priveşti chipul în perete. Poţi sta acolo mult şi bine, nu-ţi va oferi nimic. Doar dacă vor dori, se vor putea transforma în oglinzi.
Moise D. (Gol de timp)
in a middle of a room stands a suicide sniffing a Paper rose smiling to a self "somewhere it is Spring and sometimes people are in real:imagine somewhere real flowers,but I can't imagine real flowers for if I could,they would somehow not Be real" (so he smiles smiling)"but I will not everywhere be real to you in a moment" The is blond with small hands "& everything is easier than I had guessed everything would be;even remembering the way who looked at whom first,anyhow dancing
E.E. Cummings
if everything happens that can't be done (and anything's righter than books could plan) the stupidest teacher will almost guess (with a run skip around we go yes) there's nothing as something as one one hasn't a why or because or although (and buds know better than books don't grow) one's anything old being everything new (with a what which around we come who) one's everyanything so so world is a leaf so tree is a bough (and birds sing sweeter than books tell how) so here is away and so your is a my (with a down up around again fly) forever was never till now now i love you and you love me (and books are shutter than books can be) and deep in the high that does nothing but fall (with a shout each around we go all) there's somebody calling who's we we're anything brighter than even the sun (we're everything greater than books might mean) we're everanything more than believe (with a spin leap alive we're alive) we're wonderful one times one
E.E. Cummings
O sweet spontaneous earth how often have the doting fingers of prurient philosophers pinched and poked thee , has the naughty thumb of science prodded thy beauty . how often have religions taken thee upon their scraggy knees squeezing and buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive gods (but true to the incomparable couch of death thy rhythmic lover thou answerest them only with spring)
E.E. Cummings (100 Selected Poems)
I was too tired to think. I merely felt the town as a unique unreality. What was it? I knew -- the moon's picture of a town. These streets with their houses did not exist, they were but a ludicrous projection of the moon's sumptuous personality. This was a city of Pretend, created by the hypnotism of moonnight. -- Yet when I examined the moon she too seemed but a painting of a moon and the sky in which she lived a fragile echo of color. If I blew hard the whole shy mechanism would collapse gently with a neat soundless crash. I must not, or lose all.
E.E. Cummings (The Enormous Room)
en algún lugar al que nunca he viajado, gozosamente más allá de cualquier experiencia, tus ojos tienen su silencio: en tu gesto más frágil hay cosas que me abarcan, o que no puedo tocar porque están demasiado cerca tu mirada más leve me abrirá fácilmente aunque me haya cerrado como dedos, siempre me abres pétalo tras pétalo como la Primavera abre (tocando hábilmente, misteriosamente) su primera rosa o si tu deseo fuera cerrarme, yo y mi vida nos cerraremos muy bellamente, súbitamente, como cuando el corazón de esta flor imagina la nieve cayendo cuidadosa por doquier; nada que hayamos de percibir en este mundo iguala la fuerza de tu intensa fragilidad: cuya textura me domina con el color de sus campos, trayendo muerte y eternidad con cada respiro (yo no sé qué hay en ti que puede cerrar y abrir; apenas algo en mí comprende que la voz de tus ojos es más profunda que todas las rosas) nadie, ni siquiera la lluvia, tiene manos tan pequeñas
E.E. Cummings
10 maggie and millie and molly and may went down to the beach (to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles, and millie befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world & as large as alone For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea
E.E. Cummings
Mă leg pe tine, pământule, că eu voi fi a lui Allan, și a nimănui altuia. Voi crește din el ca iarba din tine. Și cum aștepți tu ploaia, așa îi voi aștepta eu venirea, și cum îți sunt ție razele, așa va fi trupul lui mie. Mă leg în fața ta că unirea noastră va rodi, căci mi-e drag cu voia mea, și tot răul, dacă va fi, să nu cadă asupra lui, ci asupră-mi, căci eu l-am ales. Tu mă auzi, mamă pământ, tu nu mă minți, maica mea. Dacă mă simți aproape, cum te simt eu acum, și cu mâna și cu inelul, întărește-mă să-l iubesc totdeauna, bucurie necunoscută lui să-i aduc, viață de rod și de joc să-i dau. Să fie viața noastră ca bucuria ierburilor ce cresc din tine. Să fie îmbrățișarea noastră ca cea dintâi zi a monsoon-ului. Ploaie să fie sărutul nostru. Și cum tu niciodată nu obosești, maica mea, tot astfel să nu obosească inima mea în dragostea pentru Allan, pe care cerul l-a născut departe, și tu, maică, mi l-ai adus aproape.
Mircea Eliade (Maitreyi)
Cunoști o femeie, o vezi, o auzi, constaîind o serie de calități și defecte, distrat și în treacăt, sau atent și cu dinadins, te deprinzi să rămîi “tu” în prezența ei, adică spectator mai mult sau mai puțin atras de spectacolul feminității ei, o critici mintal, o apreciezi uneori și o accepți treptat, aflînd cum e frumoasă, cum e deșteaptă sau mediocră, avînd surprize agreabile și dezamăgiri supărătoare, pînă cînd într-o zi simți că mai presus de aprecierea ta femeia aceea a devenit un fel de secret intim, pe care abea-l știi numai tu. Bătaia de inimă pe care ți-o dă acest secret te face să respiri adînc propriul tău suflet, în care au apărut arome mai misterioase decît cele aduse de sevele pămîntului. Întinzi brațele spre primavara lor. Iubești. Și femeia de mult cunoscută îți apare nouă, din clipa în care ai întîlnit-o. Te miri că n-ai vazut de atunci ceea ce abea descoperi într-o evidentă edenică. E o mirare intensă ca geniul, oricît ar fi de plat ceea ce-i urmează. Secunda acestei mirări hrănește cu luceferi pe poeți și cu cea mai virulentă toxină pe oamenii obișnuiți.
Ionel Teodoreanu (Lorelei)
Pentru că au sâni rotunzi, cu gurguie care se ridică prin bluză când le e frig, pentru că au fundul mare şi grăsuţ, pentru că au feţe cu trăsături dulci ca ale copiilor, pentru că au buze pline, dinţi decenţi şi limbi de care nu ţi-e silă. Pentru că nu miros a transpiraţie sau a tutun prost şi nu asudă pe buza superioară. Pentru că le zâmbesc tuturor copiilor mici care trec pe lângă ele. Pentru că merg pe stradă drepte, cu capul sus, cu umerii traşi înapoi şi nu răspund privirii tale când le fixezi ca un maniac. Pentru că trec cu un curaj neaşteptat peste toate servitutile anatomiei lor delicate. Pentru că în pat sunt îndrăzneţe şi inventive nu din perversitate, ci ca să-ţi arate că te iubesc. Pentru că fac toate treburile sâcâitoare şi mărunte din casă fără să se laude cu asta şi fără să ceară recunoştinţă. Pentru că nu citesc reviste porno şi nu navighează pe site-uri porno. Pentru că poartă tot soiul de zdrăngănele pe care şi le asortează la îmbrăcăminte după reguli complicate şi de neînţeles. Pentru că îşi desenează şi-şi pictează feţele cu atenţia concentrată a unui artist inspirat. Pentru că au obsesia pentru subţirime a lui Giacometti. Pentru că se trag din fetiţe. Pentru că-şi ojează unghiile de la picioare. Pentru că joacă şah, whist sau ping-pong fără sa le intereseze cine câştigă. Pentru că şofează prudent în maşini lustruite ca nişte bomboane, aşteptând să le admiri când sunt oprite la stop şi treci pe zebră prin faţa lor. Pentru că au un fel de-a rezolva probleme care te scoate din minţi. Pentru că au un fel de-a gândi care te scoate din minţi. Pentru că-ţi spun „te iubesc” exact atunci când te iubesc mai puţin, ca un fel de compensaţie. Pentru că nu se masturbează. Pentru că au din când în când mici suferinţe: o durere reumatică, o constipaţie, o bătătură, şi-atunci îţi dai seama deodată că femeile sunt oameni, oameni ca şi tine. Pentru că scriu fie extrem de delicat, colecţionând mici observaţii şi schiţând subtile nuanţe psihologice, fie brutal şi scatologic ca nu cumva să fie suspectate de literatură feminină. Pentru că sunt extraordinare cititoare, pentru care se scriu trei sferturi din poezia şi proza lumii. Pentru că le înnebuneşte „Angie” al Rolling-ilor. Pentru că le termină Cohen. Pentru că poartă un război total şi inexplicabil contra gândacilor de bucătărie. Pentru că până şi cea mai dură bussiness woman poartă chiloţi cu înduioşătoare floricele şi danteluţe. Pentru că e aşa de ciudat să-ntinzi la uscat, pe balcon, chiloţii femeii tale, nişte lucruşoare umede, negre, roşii şi albe, parte satinate, parte aspre, mirându-te ce mici suprafeţe au de acoperit. Pentru că în filme nu fac duş niciodată înainte de-a face dragoste, dar numai în filme. Pentru că niciodată n-ajungi cu ele la un acord în privinţa frumuseţii altei femei sau a altui bărbat. Pentru că iau viaţa în serios, pentru că par să creadă cu adevărat în realitate. Pentru că le interesează cu adevărat cine cu cine s-a mai cuplat dintre vedetele de televiziune. Pentru că ţin minte numele actriţelor şi actorilor din filme, chiar ale celor mai obscuri. Pentru că dacă nu e supus nici unei hormonizări embrionul se dezvoltă întotdeauna într-o femeie. Pentru că nu se gândesc cum să i-o tragă tipului drăguţ pe care-l văd în troleibuz. Pentru că beau porcării ca Martini Orange, Gin Tonic sau Vanilia Coke. Pentru că nu-ţi pun mâna pe fund decât în reclame. Pentru că nu le excită ideea de viol decât în mintea bărbaţilor. Pentru că sunt blonde, brune, roşcate, dulci, futeşe, calde, drăgălaşe, pentru că au de fiecare dată orgasm. Pentru că dacă n-au orgasm nu îl mimează. Pentru că momentul cel mai frumos al zilei e cafeaua de dimineaţă, când timp de o oră ronţăiţi biscuiţi şi puneţi ziua la cale. Pentru că sunt femei, pentru că nu sunt bărbaţi, nici altceva. Pentru că din ele-am ieşit şi-n ele ne-ntoarcem, şi mintea noastră se roteşte ca o planetă greoaie, mereu şi mereu, numai în jurul lor.
Mircea Cărtărescu (De ce iubim femeile)
in heavenly realms of hellas dwelt two very different sons of zeus: one, handsome strong and born to dare --a fighter to his eyelashes-- the other,cunning ugly lame; but as you'll shortly comprehend a marvellous artificer now Ugly was the husband of (as happens every now and then upon a merely human plane) someone completely beautiful; and Beautiful,who(truth to sing) could never quite tell right from wrong, took brother Fearless by the eyes and did the deed of joy with him then Cunning forged a web so subtle air is comparatively crude; an indestructible occult supersnare of resistless metal: and(stealing toward the blissful pair) skilfully wafted over them- selves this implacable unthing next,our illustrious scientist petitions the celestial host to scrutinize his handiwork: they(summoned by that savage yell from shining realms of regions dark) laugh long at Beautiful and Brave --wildly who rage,vainly who strive; and being finally released flee one another like the pest thus did immortal jealousy quell divine generosity, thus reason vanquished instinct and matter became the slave of mind; thus virtue triumphed over vice and beauty bowed to ugliness and logic thwarted life:and thus-- but look around you,friends and foes my tragic tale concludes herewith: soldier,beware of mrs smith
E.E. Cummings
Vine un moment în viaţa omului în care trebuie să se trezească din rutină şi din amorţeala sufletului şi să-şi evalueze viaţa, cu tot ceea ce înseamnă ea: realizări, eşecuri, fericire, tristeţe şi oameni. Un moment de sinceritate, în care să înceteze să se mai amăgească. De prea multe ori amânăm acel moment. Îl amânăm, poate, din lipsa de curaj, de dragul unor oameni pe care-i iubim şi care depind de noi, de teama că un nou început nu ne asigură o reuşită, sau poate pentru că încă nu suntem pregătiţi să abandonăm drumul care nu ne duce nicăieri şi să pornim spre drumuri noi. Nu e uşor... Pentru că un astfel de moment presupune rupturi dureroase de oameni, de locuri şi renunţări la vise. Omul nu ştie cât este de puternic până când nu se aruncă în luptă. Iar teama de eşec îl face uneori laş şi îl obligă să se resemneze cu o viaţă lipsită de frumos şi de sens. Sau e posibil ca, uneori, omul să uite să se preţuiască şi trăieşte cu impresia că nu merită o viaţă frumoasă, că fericirea este pentru cei aleşi, şi de aceea nici nu îndrăzneşte măcar să spere, să viseze şi să lupte. Acest moment îl sperie... îl sperie schimbările drastice, alegerile, luptele, incertitudinile şi nu se gândeşte aproape deloc că el înseamnă, de fapt, un nou început, alte posibilităţi, o salvare dintr-o viaţă netrăită aşa cum ar trebui. Şi astfel îşi iroseşte viaţa şi se abandonează pe sine neputinţei. Iar într-o zi se trezeşte cu sufletul încărcat cu regrete şi cu convingerea că e prea târziu...
Irina Binder (Fluturi (vol. I+II))