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History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Related Topics

History Man Memories Poem Writing

Bagwalas

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

Man who man would be, must rule the empire of himself.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Himself Kingdom Man Rule
If a person’s religious ideas correspond not with your own, love him nevertheless.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Himself Ideas Love Person Religious
Familiar acts are beautiful through love.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Act Action Beautiful Love
Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number- Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many-they are few.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Earth Fall Rise Sleep Yourself
I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Bed Black Death Myself Reward Win
Love’s very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Beyond Build Death Deep Divine Grave Love Pain Reward Sweet World
Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Deserve Justice Nature Punishment
I love tranquil solitude.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Love Myself One Liner Solitude Tranquility
Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Blood Hands Hard Heart Worst
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing. A tone Of some world far from ours, where music and moonlight and feeling are one.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Feeling Light Moon Music Oneself Reveal Sing Voice World
Life and the world, or whatever we call that which we are and feel, is an astonishing thing. The mist of familiarity obscures from us the wonder of our being. We are struck with admiration at some of its transient modifications, but it is itself the great miracle.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Beautiful Feeling Greatness Life Miracle Nature Wonderful World
In fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Communication Fact Fear Truth
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Bird Cheerful Darkness Poet Solitude Sound Sweet
The howl of self-interest is loud but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Black Heart Loud Note
I love all waste And solitary places; where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Believe Love Ourselves Place See Soul Wasted
A single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Literature Power Thinking Word

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