Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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There is no real wealth but the labor of man.
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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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Obscenity, which is ever blasphemy against the divine beauty in life, is a monster for which the corruption of society forever brings forth new food, which it devours in secret.
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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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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 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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Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
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Familiar acts are beautiful through love.
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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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That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.
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Government is an evil; it is only the thoughtlessness and vices of men that make it a necessary evil. When all men are good and wise, government will of itself decay.
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Twin-sister of Religion, Selfishness.
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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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A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light. And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.
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Reason respects the differences, and imagination the similitudes of things.
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Hell is a city much like London - A populous and smoky city.
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His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.
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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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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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Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year.
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What is Freedom? - ye can tell That which slavery is, too well - For its very name has grown To an echo of your own.
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I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less.
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Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine, Yet let's be merry: we'll have tea and toast; Custards for supper, and an endless host Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies, And other such ladylike luxuries.
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Have you not heard When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo, His best friends hear no more of him?