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Citations by Edward Estlin (E. E.) Cummings

You can find this author also in Poems and in Novels.
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(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.
Edward Estlin (E. E.) Cummings
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    in Quotes & Aphorisms ()
    Your poems are rather hard to understand, whereas your paintings are so easy. Easy? Of course, you paint flowers and girls and sunsets; things that everybody understands. I never met him. Who? Everybody. Did you ever hear of nonrepresentational painting? I am. Pardon me? I am a painter, and painting is nonrepresentational. Not all painting. No: housepainting is representational. And what does a housepainter represent? Ten dollars an hour. In other words, you don't want to be serious. It takes two to be serious.
    Edward Estlin (E. E.) Cummings
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      in Quotes & Aphorisms ()
      My theory of technique, if I have one, is very far from original; nor is it complicated. I can express it in fifteen words, by quoting The Eternal Question And Immortal Answer of burlesk, viz. "Would you hit a woman with a child? — No, I'd hit her with a brick." Like the burlesk comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement.
      Edward Estlin (E. E.) Cummings
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        in Quotes & Aphorisms ()
        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.
        Edward Estlin (E. E.) Cummings
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          in Quotes & Aphorisms ()
          Every artist's strictly illimitable country is himself.
          An artist who plays that country false has committed suicide; and even a good lawyer cannot kill the dead. But a human being who's true to himself, whoever himself may be, is immortal; and all the atomic bombs of all the antiartists in spacetime will never civilize immortality.
          Edward Estlin (E. E.) Cummings
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