Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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Have you not heard When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo, His best friends hear no more of him?
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The seed ye sow another reaps; The wealth ye find another keeps; The robes ye weave another wears; The arms ye forge another bears.
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His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.
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The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set; While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon, The cross leads generations on.
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One word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it.
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Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill Which severs those it should unite; Let us remain together still, Then it will be good night.
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The lone couch of his everlasting sleep.
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The cemetery is an open space among the ruins covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
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By all that is sacred in our hopes for the human race, I conjure those who love happiness and truth, to give a fair trial to the vegetable system.
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Peter was dull; he was at first Dull,-oh so dull, so very dull! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed, Still with this dulness was he cursed! Dull,-beyond all conception, dull.
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Once, early in the morning, Beelzebub arose, With care his sweet person adorning, He put on his Sunday clothes.
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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.
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You would not easily guess All the modes of distress Which torture the tenants of earth; And the various evils, Which like so many devils, Attend the poor souls from their birth.
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I met Murder on the way - He had a mask like Castlereagh - Very smooth he looked, yet grim; Seven blood-hounds followed him.
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Twin-sister of Religion, Selfishness.
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Hell is a city much like London - A populous and smoky city.
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Reason respects the differences, and imagination the similitudes of things.
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If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
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From the haunts of daily life Where is waged the daily strife With common wants and common cares Which sows the human heart with tares.
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Twilight, ascending slowly from the east, Entwined in duskier wreaths her braided locks O'er the fair front and radiant eyes of day, Night followed, clad with stars.
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That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.
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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.
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Last came Anarchy: he rode On a white horse, splashed with blood; He was pale even to the lips, Like Death in the Apocalypse.
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Man's yesterday may never be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.