Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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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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And with glorious triumph, they Rode through England proud and gay, Drunk as with intoxication Of the wine of desolation.
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Titles are tinsel, power a corruptor, glory a bubble, and excessive wealth, a libel on its possessor.
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When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid - in which case all comment is superfluous - or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.
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And man … no longer now He slays the lamb that looks him in the face, And horribly devours his mangled flesh.
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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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Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.
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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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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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Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
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What if English toil and blood Was poured forth, even as a flood? It availed, Oh, Liberty, To dim, but not extinguish thee.
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Best and brightest, come away!
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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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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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Kings are like stars - they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose.
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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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We must prove design before we can infer a designer.1