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Full Name and Common Aliases


Steven Sherrill is an American poet known by his full name.

Birth and Death Dates


He was born on October 28, 1952, and passed away in 2019.

Nationality and Profession(s)


Sherrill's nationality was American. He worked as a poet throughout his career.

Early Life and Background


Steven Sherrill grew up in the United States. His upbringing had a significant influence on his later work. Little is known about his family, but it is understood that they encouraged his love of poetry from an early age. This support would ultimately shape his writing style and subject matter.

Major Accomplishments


Sherrill's writing career was marked by numerous accomplishments. He published several collections of poetry, showcasing his unique voice and perspective on the world. These works explored themes such as identity, love, and loss. His writing was praised for its accessibility and emotional depth, resonating with readers from diverse backgrounds.

Notable Works or Actions


Some of Sherrill's most notable works include his collections "The Minotaur in the Labyrinth" and "Bread and Other Writings". These publications cemented his reputation as a prominent figure in American poetry. In addition to his written work, he also gave numerous readings and lectures at universities and literary festivals.

Impact and Legacy


Sherrill's impact on contemporary poetry is significant. His exploration of complex themes through accessible language has inspired a new generation of poets. He is remembered for his ability to convey the human experience in a way that is both deeply personal and universally relatable. His legacy extends beyond his written work, as he helped pave the way for future generations of writers.

Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered


Steven Sherrill's quotes are widely sought after due to their insightful exploration of the human condition. His writing continues to resonate with readers today, offering a unique perspective on life's complexities. His legacy serves as a reminder of the power of poetry to capture the essence of our shared experiences. As a result, his quotes remain an important part of literary culture, providing inspiration and guidance for those seeking to understand themselves and the world around them.

Quotes by Steven Sherrill

There is a certain quality of light to be found only in midsummer in the South, as day, slipping into dusk, acquiesces to the filament, the bulb, the porch light; this seductive light is beautiful when it washes across dry cement, the sidewalk and stoop. The light spilling from the phone booth softens and cleanses all that it touches. It’s a forgiving and almost protective light. The Minotaur is drawn to it from across the parking lot.
"
There is a certain quality of light to be found only in midsummer in the South, as day, slipping into dusk, acquiesces to the filament, the bulb, the porch light; this seductive light is beautiful when it washes across dry cement, the sidewalk and stoop. The light spilling from the phone booth softens and cleanses all that it touches. It’s a forgiving and almost protective light. The Minotaur is drawn to it from across the parking lot.
The Minotaur comes and goes. He has for centuries. And there have been many bridges.The Minotaur pauses, as he walks, midway through the covered bridge that serves, in more ways than one, as the entrance to Old Scald Village. He rests his heavy snout against one of the wooden trusses. The Minotaur likes this portal, both ingress and egress, a breach in the terribly human construct of time.
"
The Minotaur comes and goes. He has for centuries. And there have been many bridges.The Minotaur pauses, as he walks, midway through the covered bridge that serves, in more ways than one, as the entrance to Old Scald Village. He rests his heavy snout against one of the wooden trusses. The Minotaur likes this portal, both ingress and egress, a breach in the terribly human construct of time.
The sign says that the Scald Mt. Rod & Gun Club has adopted the highway, but the Minotaur knows an orphan when he sees it.
"
The sign says that the Scald Mt. Rod & Gun Club has adopted the highway, but the Minotaur knows an orphan when he sees it.
Unngh,' the Minotaur says.What he means is that every past is littered and scarred. What he means is that the present moment is the only moment that pulses, that breathes. What he means is that he himself is capable of great tenderness but has also done great harm. The Minotaur knows that sometimes mercy requires expedience. Haste. Sometimes it can't be about how much a thing hurts.
"
Unngh,' the Minotaur says.What he means is that every past is littered and scarred. What he means is that the present moment is the only moment that pulses, that breathes. What he means is that he himself is capable of great tenderness but has also done great harm. The Minotaur knows that sometimes mercy requires expedience. Haste. Sometimes it can't be about how much a thing hurts.
If asked the Minotaur might say that he thinks gravity pulls harder at night. That the whole earth, on its wobbly axis, whips quicker through a sunless sky. It sure feels that way. But nobody is going to ask.
"
If asked the Minotaur might say that he thinks gravity pulls harder at night. That the whole earth, on its wobbly axis, whips quicker through a sunless sky. It sure feels that way. But nobody is going to ask.
There is a certain quality of light to be found only in midsummer in the South, as day, slipping into dusk, acquiesces to the filament, the bulb, the porch light; this seductive light is beautiful when it washes across dry cement, the sidewalk and stoop. The light spilling from the phone booth softens and cleanses all that it touches. It's a forgiving and almost protective light. The Minotaur is drawn to it from across the parking lot.
"
There is a certain quality of light to be found only in midsummer in the South, as day, slipping into dusk, acquiesces to the filament, the bulb, the porch light; this seductive light is beautiful when it washes across dry cement, the sidewalk and stoop. The light spilling from the phone booth softens and cleanses all that it touches. It's a forgiving and almost protective light. The Minotaur is drawn to it from across the parking lot.
It is Tuesday, near dusk. Night creeps in and strips colors from the scene. Everything is purplish. There have been many Tuesdays in the Minotaur‘s life. He wonders how this one will end.
"
It is Tuesday, near dusk. Night creeps in and strips colors from the scene. Everything is purplish. There have been many Tuesdays in the Minotaur‘s life. He wonders how this one will end.
Cecie keeps telling him she’d like to take him home some night, husband or no. The Minotaur waits hopefully. Husband or no.
"
Cecie keeps telling him she’d like to take him home some night, husband or no. The Minotaur waits hopefully. Husband or no.
Standing at the window, reading the menu of Obediah's services, the Minotaur wishes he could believe in what she has to offer: a promise woven into deep lines of his palm, some turn of fate told by a card. But faith is a nebulous thing and charlatans a dime a dozen; it's always been that way. The Minotaur both envies and pities the devout.
"
Standing at the window, reading the menu of Obediah's services, the Minotaur wishes he could believe in what she has to offer: a promise woven into deep lines of his palm, some turn of fate told by a card. But faith is a nebulous thing and charlatans a dime a dozen; it's always been that way. The Minotaur both envies and pities the devout.
As the Minotaur walks to his car Buddy charges the fence, snorting, slobbering and barking maniacally. The Minotaur is no longer afraid of Buddy, and he knows the dog means no real harm. But they have an unspoken understanding. Each of them has a history; each clings to an image, however diminished, of himself and his place in the world.
"
As the Minotaur walks to his car Buddy charges the fence, snorting, slobbering and barking maniacally. The Minotaur is no longer afraid of Buddy, and he knows the dog means no real harm. But they have an unspoken understanding. Each of them has a history; each clings to an image, however diminished, of himself and his place in the world.