e. e. cummings Quotes

I looked below and saw my people there, and all were well and happy except one, and he was lying like the dead - and that one was myself.

A conscience is a troublesome thing at times. I woke up at 4 o'clock this morning and I spent the time feeling what a nothing I was, and wishing I was so very different. Then the morning's post brought me a letter from a friend, saying I was so this, so that - it made me really cry, I was so grateful.

Be still my tongue, for i know not what to say; My life is lived in darkness and here i will remain.

Late, by myself, in the boat of myself, no light and no land anywhere, cloudcover thick. I try to stay just above the surface, yet I'm already under and living within the ocean.

But when the self speaks to the self, who is speaking? The entombed soul, the spirit driven in, in, in to the central catacomb; the self that took the veil and left the world -- a coward perhaps, yet somehow beautiful, as it flits with its lantern restlessly up and down the dark corridors.

I feel completely alone - it's like melting, I am the structure, and I am also Alain Robert.

Sometimes I think I'm the craziest person on the planet.

I've always been strong-minded, but I wonder.

Anybody can get lost in themselves.

I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.

Why am I so soft in the middle when the rest of my life is so hard?

I am a spy in the house of me. I report back from the front lines of the battle that is me. I am somewhat nonplused by the event that is my life.

I have my moments. Ever since I was a boy, I never was someone who was at ease with happiness. Too often I embrace introspection and self-doubt. I wish I could embrace the good things.

Every faculty and virtue I possess can be used as an instrument with which to worry myself.

I feel like I'm in my own head a lot; it just feels amazing, but scary, weird and confusing.

I look in the mirror, and what I see is someone who has never grown up - a crashing sentimentalist who alternates between great heights and black depths.

When you're living a lie, the scariest thing is to be alone with your thoughts.

I'm a Scorpio with a Pisces moon. I am very critical of myself. I'm actually way less critical of others than I am of myself. I'm in my own head a lot. It's hard and really discouraging.

The rising and falling of the scales of pride and humility sustain the brooding mind as well as the alternations of desire and peace of the soul.

Desire, despair, desire. So many monsters.

Weren't you always distracted by expectation, as if every event announced a beloved? (Where can you find a place to keep her, with all the huge strange thoughts inside you going and coming and often staying all night.).

Then I felt that every inflection of my voice, every word in my mouth, was a lie, a play whose sole purpose was to cover emptiness and boredom. There was only one way I could avoid a state of despair and a breakdown. To be silent. And to reach behind the silence for clarity or at least try to collect the resources that might still be available to me.

In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance. Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person's heart and dissolve it. You could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects me, but at the same time steadily cuts away at me from the inside.

You cannot escape what you have to deal with inside yourself. It will never bring good things. It will only bring madness.