the mind is its own beautiful prisoner. Mind looked long at the sticky moonopening in dusk her new wingsthen decently hanged himself, one afternoon. The last thing he saw was younaked amid unnaked things...
E. E. CummingsAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: October 14, 1894
- Died: September 3, 1962
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I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved, and moved us, gently, up and down, and from side to side.(Pause. Krapp's lips move. No sound.)Past midnight. Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited.
Samuel Beckett