Quotes About Rhyme

My feeling is that poetry will wither on the vine if you don't regularly come back to the simplest fundamentals of the poem: rhythm, rhyme, simple subjects - love, death, war.

A rhyme doesn't make a song.

I generally, you know, I don't - I don't really scat. I'm - I'm basically a songwriter so you need a little lyrics that rhyme and stuff.

As soon as war is declared it will be impossible to hold the poets back. Rhyme is still the most effective drum.

Lyrics are very different. There is a clear line between that and a poem. Something that has been a source of great excitement and delight for me is this idea that I get to rhyme.

Where there is love, there are plenty of things that rhyme.

Who among us has not dreamt, in moments of ambition, of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical without rhythm and rhyme, supple and staccato enough to adapt to the lyrical stirrings of the soul, the undulations of dreams, and sudden leaps of consciousness.

I remember writing monologues and one-act plays and stuff in high school. I had a project in English that was just a short book of limericks. It was so weird. I enjoyed the challenge and rhyme of it. I was always putting on plays and stuff.

Oh hell, Vader, beer is old fashioned, salt is old fashioned. Why do you think magic spells in stories always rhyme? And kids' jump-rope rituals? And political slogans? The subconscious, the pre-rational part of your brain, thinks a statement must be important if it rhymes. And meter, that drum-beat—imagine how uninspiring the St. Crispin's Day speech in Henry V would have been if it wasn't in iambic pentameter!

Time ain't nothing, but time. It's a verse with no rhyme, And it all come down to you. «El tiempo solo es tiempo. Es un verso sin rima, y todo depende de ti.»

Time ain't notbin, but time. It's a verse with no rhyme, and it all comer down to you.

I can't even make up a rhyme about an umbrella, let alone death and life and eternal peace.

I uttered my prayer: Give me your honey. Bless my tongue with rhyme, poetry, song.

I'm not him, I'm not the turncloak, he died at Winterfell. My name is Reek, It rhymes with freak

There's no time like the present, No present like time. And life can be over in the space of a rhyme. There's no gift like friendship And no love like mine. Give me your love to treasure through time.

Mary had a little lamb It's fleece was white as snow, And everywhere that Mary went The lamb was sure to go.

Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock; When the bough breaks the cradle will fall; Down will come baby, cradle and all.

One for the master, And one for my dame, And one for the little boy Who lives in the lane.

You will love again, people say. Give it time. Me with time running out. Day after day of the everyday. What they call real life, made of eighth-inch gauge. Newness strutting around as if it were significant. Irony, neatness and rhyme pretending to be poetry. I want to go back to that time after Michiko's death when I cried every day among the trees. To the real. To the magnitude of pain, of being that much alive.

Being older now, grown, I'm like, 'What do we really do that's fun?' I'm kind of corny when you think about it. What could I rhyme about? Let me see, um, I gotta pay the rent today.

This is what rhyme does. In a couplet, the first rhyme is like a question to which the second rhyme is an answer. The first rhyme leaves something in the air, some unanswered business. In most quatrains, space is created between the rhyme that poses the question and the rhyme that gives the answer - it is like a pleasure deferred.

she thinks I'm psycho cause I like to rhyme her name with things.

When I first spit my first rhyme in public on my school bus, I had an audience.

Assonance is not the enemy of rhyme. It helps us to respect rhyme, which has been spoiled by mechanical use.