Sonnet Quotes

Sonnet Quote of the day

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.

I thought I'd begin by reading a poem by Shakespeare, but then I thought, why should I? He never reads any of mine.

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.

The martini: the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet.

In a world of bands called Limp Bizkit and Hoobastank, Electric Sheep rolls off the tongue like a Shakespearean love sonnet. Leave me alone.

If I ever asked you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked a woman and been totally vulnerable.

To me there's no creativity without boundaries. If you're gonna write a sonnet, it's 14 lines, so it's solving the problem within the container.

When a sonnet is mediocre it is bad, for it should be sublime.

I prefer assonance and internal rhyme to end rhyme. I mean, the sonnet already looks like a box. Best not to get too boxed in, though.

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.

Everything nourishes what is strong already

I am frequently astonished that it so often results in correct predictions of experimental results.

Each genre exerts a considerable spell, as a kind of "form" to be filled, as a Shakespearean sonnet is filled.

A sentimental aphorism is even more a surprise than a hard- boiled sonnet.

The idea that a student can write a sonnet or a novel without having a sound understanding about its history, and where it fits into literature as a whole, seems to me to be manifestly daft.

A true sonnet goes eight lines and then takes a turn for better or worse and goes six or eight lines more.

Milton was the first person who really experimented with putting politics into sonnets.

My sonnet asserts that the sonnet still lives. My epic, should such fortune befall me, asserts that the heroic narrative is not lost - that it is born again.

There is no objection to the proposal: in order to learn to be a poet, I shall try to write a sonnet. But the thing you must try to write, when you do so, is a real sonnet, and not a practice sonnet.

The form I most enjoy writing is the sonnet or sonnet-like forms, where you have a - you know, three stanzas or two stanzas that lead into a concluding couplet.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73

Abolishing the book is like abolishing the symphony, or sonata form, or the sonnet, or the wall painting.

Better a live doggerel than a dead sonnet.

You can't beat a good sonnet, and you can write a sonnet without being married to the damned thing.

Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a wind turns into a tracheotomy, a boat turns into a corpse.

Elinor Lipman is to tweets what Shakespeare is to sonnets.

Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fairTo be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.

Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.

Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, And die as fast as they see others grow.

To give yourself away keep yourself still, And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.

If I could write the beauty of your eyesAnd in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'this poet lies! Such heaven never touched earthly faces

O! Learn to read what silent love hath writ:to hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

Ere long this golden light shall pass and fadeExcept all cherish'd mem'ries ye have made.

I'd Drown For YouI opened my heart to youA complete immersionI offered my soul to youA heavenly diversion

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.

Yet this thou art alive, but if ye soar, My poor frail heart will have beat out its cryAnd sadly miss thy sweet form all the moreWhile helplessly I stand and watch you die.

The sonnet, a lyrical poem, the beauty and magic... convey with our hearts the truth of the universe in a single moment briefly.

O God bid my poor body to ariseOn that bright day triumphant through the skies!