#sonnets

I have always wanted what I have now come to call the voice of personal narrative. That has always been the appealing voice in poetry. It started for me lyrically in Shakespeare's sonnets. ↗

— Diane Wakoski

#appealing #been #call #come #i

Were kisses all the joys in bed,/One woman would another wed. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#marriage #sonnets #women #marriage

A sonnet might look dinky, but it was somehow big enough to accommodate love, war, death, and O.J. Simpson. You could fit the whole world in there if you shoved hard enough. ↗

— Anne Fadiman

#sonnets #death

When I was an undergraduate I had very badly annotated editions of Shakespeare's sonnets, all of which left out the important fact that will has a sexual sense in Shakespeare's sonnets. ↗

— Thom Gunn

#fact #had #i #important #important fact

Sonnets are guys writing in English, imitating an Italian song form. It was a form definitely sung as often as it was recited. ↗

— Steve Earle

#english #form #guys #imitating #italian

Sweetheart, darling, dearest, it was funny to think that these endearments, which used to sound exceedingly sentimental in movies and books, now held great importance, simple but true verbal affirmations of how they felt for each other. They were words only the heart could hear and understand, words that could impart entire pentameter sonnets in their few, short syllables. ↗

— E.A. Bucchianeri

#falling-in-love #feelings #heart #love #love-at-first-sight

If death is like a sonnet then life would be a haiku. The sonnet, a lyrical poem, the beauty and magic with the last breath~ love, words fading and floating off into the abyss that is space whilst our everyday lives or days more important than normal become just a mere whisper in only a few short syllables through which we convey with our hearts the truth of the universe in a single moment briefly. ↗

— R.M. Engelhardt

#life #poetry #r-m-engelhardt #sonnets #truth

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#love

Sonnet VIII Je vis, je meurs : je me brûle et me noie, J’ai chaud extrême en endurant froidure ; La vie m’est et trop molle et trop dure, J’ai grands ennuis entremêlés de joie. Tout en un coup je ris et je larmoie, Et en plaisir maint grief tourment j’endure, Mon bien s’en va, et à jamais il dure, Tout en un coup je sèche et je verdoie. Ainsi Amour inconstamment me mène Et, quand je pense avoir plus de douleur, Sans y penser je me trouve hors de peine. Puis, quand je crois ma joie être certaine, Et être en haut de mon désiré heur, Il me remet en mon premier malheur. ↗

— Louise Labé

#poems #sonnets #love

I used to write sonnets and various things, and moved from there into writing prose, which, incidentally, is a lot more interesting than poetry, including the rhythms of prose. ↗

— Shelby Foote

#incidentally #including #interesting #into #lot