Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYJoy, once lost, is pain.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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War is the statesman’s game, the priest’s delight, the lawyer’s jest, the hired assassin’s trade.
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I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won.
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Familiar acts are beautiful through love.
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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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Before man can be free, and equal, and truly wise, he must cast aside the chains of habit and superstition; he must strip sensuality of its pomp, and selfishness of its excuses, and contemplate actions and objects as they really are.
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Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.
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All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.
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Heaven’s ebon vault Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon’s unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread To curtain her sleeping world.
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This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
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Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.
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I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!
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The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors.
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I wish no living thing to suffer pain.
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The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poorer; and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism.
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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.
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Fame, power, and gold, are loved for their own sakes – are worshipped with a blind, habitual idolatry.
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When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead – When the cloud is scattered The rainbow’s glory is shed.
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In fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
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Love’s very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.
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Love’s very pain is sweet.
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Sometimes The Devil is a gentleman.
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Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs, – To the silent wilderness, Where the soul need not repress Its music.
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O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
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If God has spoken, why is the world not convinced.
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Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
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Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY