Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes (315 Quotes)

With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear!

The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow.

and if we were not weak
Should we be less in deed than in desire?

The sounds that soothed his sleep,
The mystery and the majesty of Earth,
The joy, the exultation?

For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face. I now Say what I think.

The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon, The cross leads generations on.

The breath of accusation kills an innocent name, and leaves for lame acquittal the poor life, which is a mask without it

Man were immortal, and omnipotent,
Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art,
Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart.

A pleasure sweet doubtless it was to see
Mortals subdued in all the shapes of sleep.

To-morrow,
If thy kind feelings should not cease,
We may sit here.

while still
He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;
Awake him not!

The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.

Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.

The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.

And then a Vision on my brain was rolled.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.

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.

I fall upon the thorns of life!

I slept, and silver dreams did aye inspire
My liquid sleep; I woke, and did approve
All Nature to my heart, and thought to make
A paradise of earth for one sweet sake.

Soon but too late, in penitence
Or fear, his foes released him thence.

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness.

For there are deeds Which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.

A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.

Here I swear, and as I break my oath may eternity blast me, here I swear that never will I forgive Christianity It is the only point on which I allow myself to encourage revenge. Oh, how I wish I were the Antichrist, that it were mine to crush the Demon to hurl him to his native Hell never to rise again I expect to gratify some of this insatiable feeling in Poetry.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

I 'll tell thee truth: I loved another.

Soft mossy lawns
Beneath these canopies extend their swells,
Fragrant with perfumed herbs, and eyed with blooms
Minute yet beautiful.

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Thou knowest not, thou canst not know
My agony.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine,
Another's wealth: tame sacrifice
To a fond faith !

Life may change, but it may fly not Hope may vanish, but can die not Truth be veiled, but still it burneth Love repulsed, - but it returneth.

I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear.

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!

He was a gentle boy
And in all gentle sorts took joy.

There was no fair fiend near him, not a sight
Or sound of awe but in his own deep mind.

A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last,
Was Time long past.

Spirit of Beauty, that dost consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon
Of human thought or form, -- where art thou gone?

Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?

The soft sky smiles, -the low wind whispers near:
'Tis Adonais calls!

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.

England, farewell thou, who hast been my cradle, Shalt never be my dungeon or my grave.

Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay,
When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies
In darkness?

How wonderful is death Death and his brother sleep.

One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

Great and mean
Meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow.

There is no sport in hate when all the rage is on one side

Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.

I feel desire, but hope not.

The odious and disgusting aristocracy of wealth is built upon the ruins of all that is good in chivalry or republicanism and luxury is the forerunner of a barbarism scarcely capable of cure.