Ee Cummings Death Quotes

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

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

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)

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

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

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

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

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)

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)

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

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

...sunlight is (life and day are)only loaned:whereas night is given(night and death and the rain are given;and given is how beautifully snow)

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

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)

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

wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world my blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry -the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelid's flutter which says 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

Mister Death

death,as men call him,ends what they call men —but beauty is more now than dying’s when

-the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says 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

my love is building a building around you,a frail slippery house,a strong fragile house (beginning at the singular beginning of your smile)a skilful uncouth prison, a precise clumsy prison(building thatandthis into Thus, Around the reckless magic of your mouth) my love is building a magic, a discrete tower of magic and(as i guess) when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall crumble the mouth-flower fleet He’ll not my tower, laborious, casual where the surrounded smile hangs breathless

dead says come with me he says(andwhyevernot)into the round well and see the kitten and the penny and the jackknife and the rosebug and you say Sure you say (like that) sure i'll come with you you say for i like kittens i do and jackknives i do and pennies i do and rosebugs i do

there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards she is sitting beside young death, is slender; likes flowers.

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

III 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

And death i think is no parenthesis

-the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says 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

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 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 each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph and death I think is no parenthesis.

[Humanity i love you]" 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 embarassing 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 shop 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 f death Humanity i hate you E.E. Cummings, first published as “La Guerre II” in XLI Poems (The Dial Press, 1925)

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 each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life’s not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis

giving to steal and cruel kind, a heart to fear, to doubt a mind, to differ a disease of same, conform the pinnacle of am though dull were all we taste as bright, bitter all utterly things sweet, maggoty minus and dumb death all we inherit, all bequeath

(haste ere some thrush with silver several tears complete the perfumed paraphrase of death)

[)when what hugs stopping earth than silent is]" )when what hugs stopping earth than silent is more silent than more than much more is or total sun oceaning than any this tear jumping from each most least eye of star and without was if minus and shall be immeasurable happenless unnow shuts more than open could that every tree or than all life more death begins to grow end’s ending then these dolls of joy and grief these recent memories of future dream these perhaps who have lost their shadows if which did not do the losing spectres mime until out of merely not nothing comes only one snowflake(and we speak our names

come a little further – why be afraid – here’s the earliest star(have you a wish?) touch me, before we perish (believe that not anything which has ever been invented can spoil this or this instant) kiss me a little: the air darkens and is alive – o live with me in the fewness of these colours; alone who slightly always are beyond the reach of death and the English — E.E. Cummings, “XLVIII,” ViVa. (Liveright; 2nd ed. edition October 17, 1997) Originally published 1931.