I will venture to assert, that a just translation of any ancient poet in rhyme is impossible. No human ingenuity can be equal to the task of closing every couplet with sounds homotonous, expressing at the same time the full sense, and only the full sense of his original.
Our actions are like the terminations of verses, which we rhyme as we please.
My garden all is overblown with roses,/ My spirit all is overblown with rhyme.
When I rap, I get to express myself in a way where putting words together is like poetry, and sometimes it's better to talk in certain expressions than sing, you know? So I love, I love to rhyme when I want to express certain things.
Lets be clear, Dolly Parton is a rapper. Somewhere before all the country, I don't know what happens up there in the mountains when you're growing up, but she has been spitting rhymes for a very long time - 50 years I'd say.
You take stuff from different places, and sometimes you stick a line in because it rhymes, not because it makes sense.
Once in awhile you have a thought, and you rhyme it.
Puttin rhymes into shape just like Jack LaLanne.
Rhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stomp, Rhyme to ill, rhyme to romp, Rhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, rhyme to roll, Rhyme to destroy anything, toy boy. On the microphone: I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East Coast.
I can remember being eight years old and having infinite possibilities. But life ends up being so much less that we thought it would be when we were kids, with relationships that are so empty and stupid and brutal. If you don't find a way to break the chain and change in some way, then you wind up, as the rhyme goes: a murder of one, for sorrow.
Being in Marin City was like a small town so it taught me to be more [straightforward] with my style. Instead of of being so metaphorical with the rhyme, I was encouraged to go straight at it and hit it dead on and not waste time trying to cover thingsIn Marin City it seemed like things were real country. Everything was straightforward. Poverty was straightforward.
I think it's interesting that cologne rhymes with alone.
I sort of recognize it, as opposed to shaping it. Oh, that's a good idea, that's a good line. I wonder where I can use that. And when you get into a rhyme group like 'not,' you got a lot of rhymes, you got a lot of choices. The more you do it, the luckier you get.
Don't be married to a line or verse if it can't rhyme, fit the meter, or doesn't fit the outline.
I write a lot from instinct. But as you're writing out of instinct, once you reach a certain level as a songwriter, the craft is always there talking to you in the back of your head...that tells you when it's time to go to the chorus, when it's time to rhyme. Real basic craft... it's second nature.
Ah! What avails the classic bent And what the cultured word, Against the undoctored incident That actually occurred? And what is Art whereto we press Through paint and prose and rhyme- When Nature in her nakedness Defeats us every time?
Vain vision! when the changing world each day Sees some such lordly pleasance pass away; When the mere stripling knows my symbols all Worn tokes, heaven hypothetical, Nature indifferent, and the dreams of men Figments of longing which we must condemn. Yet keep these plants, O Man! a kinder time May yet be moved by them to better rhyme, Or moved, like me, to place his pleasure low, On the firm Earth, whence Men and Blossoms grow.
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.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
The kitchen was just as empty, even the refrigerator gone, the chairs, the table--the kitchen cabinets stood open, their bare shelves reminder her of a nursery rhyme. She cleared her throat. "What would demons," she said, "want with our microwave?
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.
You have stopped the arrow of time... There's no meaning to this rhyme... Because my song will never mean as much as the one.. He once sang.. For you, yes, you.
Rhymes more fresher than a virgin in a 'frigerator.
I dribble rhymes like basketball... People call me 'E.T.' What's that, Shaq man? 'Extra Tall.'
Busta Rhymes the mighty infamous, Always misbehaving and mischeivous, Causing aggravation, I'll never pause, Pushing out spit balls through plastic straws.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: