Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Sono. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Sono Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,Jack London,J.k. Rowling,Judd Winick,Etgar Keret for you to enjoy and share.
O Music! language of the soul, Of love, of God to man; Bright beam from heaven thrilling, That lightens sorrow's weight.
He had the "Love-sonnets from the Portuguese" in mind as he wrote, and he wrote under the best conditions for great work, at a climacteric of living, in the throes of his own sweet love-madness. The
I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!" "You are no son of mine!" bellowed Mr. Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I have no son!
Hey, it's going to be hard to learn a great many things about me, but one I'll you for free...
I am no one's son.
Sometimes, when you are in a really constrained situation, it makes you more focused about what you want to say and where you're heading. The most beautiful love poems that were ever written are sonnets, composed in a very constraining form.
There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that trancends all other affections of the heart
My son is wonderful. He is amazing.
I grieve for my little son, father, for my little son.
The Son is the counsel and wisdom and power of the Father.
A great matter calls her son with terms like deal, and love.
Ridendo dicere severum. (<>trong>trtrong>. Through what is laughable say what is somber.)
I am a very simple man. I am a man first, an artist second. My first obligation is to the welfare of my fellow man. I will endeavour to meet this obligation through music, since it transcends language, politics and national boundaries.
The comparison is perhaps a little bit unfair because a sonnet written by a machine will be better appreciated by another machine.
I am persuaded that there is no affection of the human heart more exquisitely pure, than that which is felt by a grateful son towards a mother ...
Pino was seized by something much more compelling and primal, as if Anna were not human but a spirit, a melody, a perfect instrument of love.
In hoc signo vinces
Having a son is not all pleasure.
Arma virumque cano ... "
*Literally: "I sing of arms and man".
I sing the praises of a man's stuggles
Father of fathers, make me one, A fit example for a son.
You are a fool in four letters, my son.
A wise son makes a glad father, But a foolish son is the grief of his mother.
Kick your shoes off, kickem off
A son is like a lopped off branch. As a falcon he comes when he wills and goes where he lists.
I couldn't be fonder of you if you were my own son. But, well, if you lose a son, its possible to get another. There's only one Maltese Falcon. (Kasper Gutman)
Malone's commentary on Sonnet 93 was a defining moment in the history not only of Shakespeare studies but also of literary biography in general. What has emerged in our time as a dominant form of life writing can trace its lineage back to this extended footnote.
The Son of Man saves souls.
The boy, not 'my son.' I didn't miss that edge.
Emptiness crowded out joy and silence replaced meaning, but the Son is shining.
Don't call me son unless you're going to include me in your will. (When Adolph Rupp called him, "Son.")
Life, with its rules, its obligations, and its freedoms, is like a sonnet: You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. - Mrs. Whatsit
Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
Spira, spera.
(breathe, hope)
I'm bored, lalalallalalala OLLI OXEN SOMETHING!!
Life ... is like a sonnet: You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself.
Sondheim is the Shakespeare of the musical theater world.
At last a dream come true. The Instrument of Instruments.
Sono pazzo di te," he whispered, leaning forward,
I ... am ... the son of Jor-El!
Shine Son of glory, and my sinnes are goneLike twinkling Starres before the rising Sunne.
Lazarevo drips you into my soul, dawn drop by moonlight drop from the river Kama. When you look for me, look for me there, because that's where I'll be all the days of my life.
Sons love moms forevermore.
Soundless speechless sorties of life.
Video et taceo,' he said
Gervasio Lonquimay
Whose little boy are you?
Music, from being an ordered succession of sounds, has become a matter of "sonorities", and anyone who can produce a brightly coloured brick of unusual shape is henceforth hailed as an architect.
The light and the life of the world, a light which shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehendeth it not; 3 Who so loved the world that he gave his own life, that as many as would believe might become the sons of God. Wherefore you are my son;
The martini: the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell.
Sonnet 58.13
Mi sei mancato molto, he said, his eyes swimming with tears suddenly.
I missed you too, I told him.
How do you always know what I'm saying?
I speak Dreo.
Everyone calls his son his son, whether he has talents or has not talents.
My son - and what's a song? A thing begot within a pair of minutes, thereabout, a lump bred up in darkness.
One son appears in stereo - a transistor in one ear and the phone in the other..
So weenybeenyveenyteeny.
For sondry scoles maken sotile clerkis;
Womman of manye scoles half a clerk is.
Sleep, ladies. I will be your St. Florian." Tomaso
In every country is a word which attempts the sound of cats, to match an inisolable portrait in the clouds to a din in the air. But the constant noise is not an omen of music to come.
Til that the brighte sonne loste his hewe; For th'orisonte hath reft the sonne his lyght; This is as muche to seye as it was nyght!
Silence, beautiful voice.
I love opera. Si. But I am old. No passion in my life, you know? I work, I walk slowly now through my years ... but opera! I see, I hear that passion, Eva. Is like the passion of youth. And I live again. I feel something.
Mother: the most beautiful word on the lips of mankind.
My name is Skippito Friskito. (clap-clap)
I fear not a single bandito. (clap-clap)
My manners are mellow,
I'm sweet like the Jell-o,
I get the job done, yes indeed-o. (clap-clap)
The sweetest softest melody, as good a sound as the laughter of a pretty girl, or your mother calling you to dinner.
God is patiently transfiguring all the notes of my life into the song of His Son.
Elinor Lipman is to tweets what Shakespeare is to sonnets.
Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.
Farewell, hello, farewell, hello.
If I have a monument in this world, it is my son.
Ti amo. Esisti solo tu per me." I love you. You're the only one for me. "You're my pleasure, my sanity, my calmness, my home. My positive counterpart in every negative characteristic I own.
You're my best boy. Whatever happens, you'll always be my best boy.Boy-- David Almond
But now, as it is, sorrows, unending sorrows must surge within your heart as well - for your own son's death. Never again will you embrace him stiding home. My spirit rebels - I've lost the will to live, to take my stand in the world of men -
So very close, so very present, so very belonging to me.
For a woman, a son offers the best chance to know the mysterious male existence.
My voice is not so much 'bel canto' as 'can belto'.
A proud parent boasts little of a son's abilities and his achievements. But glories in his kindness, his gentleness, his quiet courage. Pam Brown
the death of a great man demands the birth of a great son
The hymn echoes in my head while I ready our wagon to leave. I've never felt so far from God's grace. I suppose I am a stranger walking on earth, but I'm no son of God. I'm no son at all.
He could never stand still but now
Something that had once been my son
Lay there restless spirit
Who left the house one rainy night
And never returned
Lost boy
Who will never be found again
Anywhere but eternity
Nemo est qui tibi sapientius suadere possit te ipso: numquam labere, si te audies.
(Nobody can give you wiser advice than yourself: if you heed yourself, you'll never go wrong.)
I know nothing more worthy of a man's ambition than that his son be the best of men.
This son of mine..is entirely sophisticated and quite charming- but delicate- we're all delicate; here, you know.
Son, when you were born, you cried while the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a way that when you die the world cries while you rejoice.
He who, having lost his parents or being abandoned, by them without ,just cause, gives himself to a ,man , is called a son self given.
Beautifully-acted and precisely observed, ILO ILO is an amazing debut, full of heart and intelligence.
Love so pure, love so noble!
We mothers rock into the heart of the world the melody of peace.
Son of a good goddamn holy motherfuck.
Rumo!" said Rumo.
"That's right!" Smyke exclaimed. "You Rumo, me Smyke."
"You Rumo, me Smyke." Rumo repeated eagerly.
"No, no." Smyke chuckled.
Asking me to describe my son is like asking me to hold the ocean in a paper cup
My boy of steel. My man of honor. My perfect friend. My timeless soldier.
If I don't have a mother, I'll let music be my mother.
We loved our son like the sea loves an island, always surrounding him with our arms, always touching him and crashing upon his shore with our care and concern. When he was gone, the sea had only itself to contemplate.
I'm just a man, not a hero. just a boy, who wants to sing this song.
Language is not subtle enough, tender enough, to express all that we feel; and when language fails, the highest and deepest longings are translated into music. Music is the sunshine - the climate - of the soul, and it floods the heart with a perfect June.
The beloved's innocence brutalizes the lover. As the singing of a mad person behind you on the train enrages you, its beautiful animal-like teeth shining amid black planes of paint. As Helen enrages history. Senza uscita.
Music is my mother and my father; it is my work and my rest ... my blood ... my compass ... my love ...
Et moriendo docebo - I will teach you how to die.
Furo Costas. The Rager. You, my friend, are an imbecile. You could have killed me twenty times, on the Tracks. I'm surprised you're not dead.
Ro shrugs, happily. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, and nothing he doesn't see as a compliment.
A still-born son os superior to a foolish son endowed with a long life. The first causes grief for but a moment while the latter like a blazing fire consumes his parents in grief for life.
You are the sun of my sundays