Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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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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Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
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A lovely lady, garmented in light From her own beauty.
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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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If a person's religious ideas correspond not with your own, love him nevertheless. How different would yours have been, had the chance of birth placed you in Tartary or India!
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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.
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What softer voice is hushed over the dead? Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown? What form leans sadly o'er the white death - bed, In mockery of monumental stone, The heavy heart heaving without a moan?
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I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.
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Best and brightest, come away!
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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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Sing again, with your dear voice revealing A tone Of some world far from ours, Where music and moonlight and feeling Are one.
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Ere Babylon was dust, The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child, Met his own image walking in the garden. That apparition, sole of men, he saw.
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Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.
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And like a prophetess of May Strewed flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
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And with glorious triumph, they Rode through England proud and gay, Drunk as with intoxication Of the wine of desolation.
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Kings are like stars - they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose.
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Should ever a physician be born with the genius of Locke, I am persuaded that he might trace all bodily and mental derangements to our unnatural habits, as clearly as that philosopher has traced all knowledge to sensation.
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Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.
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We must prove design before we can infer a designer.1