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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Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year.
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The pale stars are gone! For the sun, their swift shepherd, To their folds them compelling, In the depths of the dawn, Hastes, in meteor-eclipsing array, and the flee Beyond his blue dwelling, As fawns flee the leopard.
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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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The lone couch of his everlasting sleep.
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Are ye, two vultures sick for battle, Two scorpions under one wet stone, Two bloodless wolves whose dry throats rattle, Two crows perched on the murrained cattle, Two vipers tangled into one.
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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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With hue like that when some great painter dips His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse.
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Man's yesterday may never be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.
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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.
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The sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What are all these kissings worth If thou kiss not me?
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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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A husband and wife ought to continue so long united 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.
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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.
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On a poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept.
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Thy words are like a cloud of winged snakes; And yet I pity those they torture not.
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Revenge is the naked idol of the worship of a semi-barbarous age.
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Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
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Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure; Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
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Swiftly walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, Which make thee terrible and dear, - Swift be thy flight!
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A lovely lady, garmented in light From her own beauty.
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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.
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All were fat; and well they might Be in admirable plight, For one by one, and two by two, He tossed them human hearts to chew.
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Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest, Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar and soaring ever singest.