A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYTo hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light,The night is good; because, my love,They never say good-night.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
-
-
The more we study the more we discover our ignorance.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Love’s very pain is sweet.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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 -
Are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Strange thoughts beget strange deeds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Man who man would be, must rule the empire of himself.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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 -
A single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Sometimes it’s better to put love into hugs than to put it into words. Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
A sensitive plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fan like leaves to the light, and closed them beneath the kisses of night.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
The howl of self-interest is loud but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY