Onomatopoeia Quotes

“Tick, tock.”
― Suzanne Collins, Catching Fire

“You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time―
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one grey toe
Big as a Frisco seal”
― Sylvia Plath, Ariel

“Life is too fleet for onomatopoeia.”
― Mervyn Peake, Titus Groan

“The door snicked shut.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“...his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

“In the street, he turned west and walked against a tide of blank-eyed, gum-chewing faces. A taxi went over a manhole cover, clink-clank. Steam was rising from an excavation at the corner. The world was like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. What was the pont of all these drab buildings, this dirty sky?”
― Damon Knight, One Side Laughing: Stories Unlike Other Stories

“A man of the mouth, formerly the most oral of surgeons, Henry had the habit of giving his lady patients laughing gas, putting them out, then fiercely fucking them, while tugging on their wisdom teeth. His getting caught was a slip of the tongue, so to speak. While he was buried deep in a muff, some sharp thing slipped, and his prize patient, Mrs Mavis Gilette, woke to find a harpoon hole in her cheek and her lost licker languishing on the floor.”
― A.M. Homes, The End of Alice

“Sound gives life to our words just as well as the images they conjure up and the sound is there, whether or not we read them aloud.”
― A.A. Patawaran, Write Here Write Now: Standing at Attention Before My Imaginary Style Dictator

“Ein Kreis mit vielen Mittelpunkten und ohne Begrenzungslinie.”
― Haruki Murakami, First Person Singular: Stories

“I hate the word ‘moist’,” Lemon declared.”
― Jay Kristoff, TRUEL1F3

“¡Qué ben, que a bomba ven co seu rebombio!
A bomba, ¡bong!, a bomba, bon amigo,
A bomba con aramios, con formigas,
con fornos pra asar meniños loiros.
A bomba ten lombrices, bombardinos,
vermes de luz, bombillas fluorescentes,
peixes de chumbo, vómitos, anémonas,
estrelas de plutonio plutocrático,
esterco de cobalto hidroxenado,
martelos, ferraduras, matarratos.

A bomba, bong. A bomba, bon amigo.
Con átomos que estoupan en cadeia
e creban as cadeias que nos atan:

Os outos edificios.
Os outos funcionarios.
Os outos fiñanceiros.
Os outos ideais.
¡Todo será borralla radioaitiva!

As estúpidas nais que pairen fillos
polvo serán, mais polvo namorado.

Os estúpidos pais, as prostitutas,
as grandes damas da beneficencia,
magnates e mangantes, grandes cruces,
altezas, escelencias, eminencias,
cabaleiros cubertos, descubertos,
nada serán meu ben, si a bomba ven,
nada o amor, e nada a morte morta
con bendiciós e plenas indulxencias.

¡Qué ben, que a bomba ven! Nun instantiño
amable primavera faise cinza
de vagos isotopos placentarios,
de letales surrisas derretidas
baixo un arco de átomos triunfaes.

A bomba, ¡bong! a bomba co seu bombo
de setas e volutas abombadas,
axiña ven, vela ahí ven, bon amigo.

¡Estános ben! ¡Está ben! ¡Está bon!

¡¡¡Booong!!!”
― Celso Emilio Ferreiro, O Soño Sulagado