I'd rather have two good friends, than 500,000 admirers.
E. E. CummingsRead
one pierced moment whiter than the rest -turning from the tremendous lie of sleep i watch the roses of the day grow deep.
Interpretation
This quote suggests a moment of clarity or awakening from the illusions of life, reflecting on the beauty of reality.
E. E. Cummings' quote speaks to a profound moment of awareness that contrasts sharply with the 'lie of sleep,' which symbolizes ignorance or unawareness. The imagery of 'roses of the day' evokes the beauty and vibrancy of life, emphasizing a transition from a state of unconsciousness to one of appreciation and clarity. This moment illustrates the richness of reality when seen without the distortions of dreams or complacency.
In practice
This quote can be used in discussions about mindfulness and being present in the moment.
I'd rather have two good friends, than 500,000 admirers.
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
When god decided to invent everything he took one reath bigger than a circustent and everything began
The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself.
Nobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else.
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Tonight I feel the stars are out_x000D_ to use me for target practice.
Especially when the October wind With frosty fingers punishes my hair, Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire And cast a shadow crab upon the land, By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds, Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, My busy heart who shudders as she talks Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
Fly not yet; 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon.
Sitting over words _x000D_ Very late I have heard a kind of whispered sighing _x000D_ Not far _x000D_ Like a night wind in pines or like the sea in the dark _x000D_ The echo of everything that has ever _x000D_ Been spoken _x000D_ Still spinning its one syllable _x000D_ Between the earth and silence.
The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.
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