Sometimes The Devil is a gentleman.— Percy Bysshe Shelley
The most beautiful Percy Bysshe Shelley quotes that are new and everybody is talking about
The more we study the more we discover our ignorance.
Through the sunset of hope, Like the shapes of a dream, What paradise islands of glory gleam!
When my cats aren't happy, I'm not happy.
Not because I care about their mood but because I know they're just sitting there thinking up ways to get even.
A single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought.
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Love withers under constraints: its very essence is liberty: it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear.
Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs, - To the silent wilderness, Where the soul need not repress Its music.
Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.
Heaven's ebon vault Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread To curtain her sleeping world.
And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea - What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?
Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.
I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, when the winds are breathing low, and the stars are shining bright.
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.
It is only by softening and disguising dead flesh by culinary preparation that it is rendered susceptible of mastication or digestion, and that the sight of its bloody juices and raw horror does not excite intolerable loathing and disgust.
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being.
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.
It is impossible that had Buonaparte descended from a race of vegetable feeders that he could have had either the inclination or the power to ascend the throne of the Bourbons.
Let there be light! Said Liberty , And like sunrise from the sea, Athens arose!
Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
Familiar acts are beautiful through love.
Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.
I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won
Fate,Time,Occasion,Chance, and Change? To these All things are subject but eternal love.
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number- Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many-they are few.
Far clouds of feathery gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea.
Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O, wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
There is no disease, bodily or mental, which adoption of vegetable diet, and pure water has not infallibly mitigated, wherever the experiment has been fairly tried.
Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.
If God has spoken, why is the world not convinced.
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
Know ye what it is to be a child? It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of baptism; it is to believe in love, to believe in loveliness, to believe in belief.
Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange
Power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes whatever it touches.
Life and the world, or whatever we call that which we are and feel, is an astonishing thing. The mist of familiarity obscures from us the wonder of our being. We are struck with admiration at some of its transient modifications, but it is itself the great miracle.
Are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar?
A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively;
he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own.
A husband and wife ought to continue united so long as they love each other.
Any law which should bind them to cohabitation for one moment after the decay of their affection would be a most intolerable tyranny, and the most unworthy of toleration.
We look before and after, And pine for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid - in which case all comment is superfluous - or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.
Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can blast the flower, Even when in most unwary hour It blooms in Fancy's bower. Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can rend the shrine In which its vermeil splendours shine.
Change is certain. Peace is followed by disturbances; departure of evil men by their return. Such recurrences should not constitute occasions for sadness but realities for awareness, so that one may be happy in the interim.