Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit

— E.E. Cummings

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

Since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of thing swill never wholly kiss you;wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the worldly 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 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

Since the thing perhaps into eat flowers and not to be afraid

— E.E. Cummings

Something genuine like a mark in a toilet, graced with guts and gutted with grace

— E.E. Cummings

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

Sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetimeand viva sweet love (all the merry little birds are flying in the floating in thievery spirits singing near winging in the blossoming)lovers go and lovers comeawandering awonderingbut any two are perfectly alone there's nobody else alive (such a sky and such a sun never knew and neither did you and everybody never breathed quite so many kinds of yeses)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 lovetimeand viva sweet love

— E.E. Cummings

Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most people?

— E.E. Cummings

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

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