And I Quote

Quite recently, I've found a new technique
for complimenting my disgruntled lover.
No need for mystery, nor for mystique.
It is the Bard himself that gives me cover.
You see, I've found he has one fifty four.
One fifty four! And each a better sonnet
than I could ever write, so I adore
and serenade her with them. How? I'm on it:
I wouldn't dare to borrow from the Bard.
His ghost would haunt me and disturb my slumber.
The answer, and it's really not that hard.
She says: say something nice. I pick a number.