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 SHELLEYFamiliar acts are beautiful through love.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
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O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
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Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
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Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.
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Sometimes it’s better to put love into hugs than to put it into words. Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
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Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.
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Joy, once lost, is pain.
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It is not a merit to tolerate, but rather a crime to be intolerant.
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All love is sweet Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
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Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.
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The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
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I wish no living thing to suffer pain.
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I love tranquil solitude.
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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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Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
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Poets, not otherwise than philosophers, painters, sculptors, and musicians, are, in one sense, the creators, and, in another, the creations, of their age.
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The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors.
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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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Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine, In one spirit meet and mingle-Why not I with thine?
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Are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar?
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I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers.
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To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light,The night is good; because, my love,They never say good-night.
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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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I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
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Words are but holy as the deeds they cover.
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Fate, Time, Occasion, Chance, and Change? To these All things are subject but eternal love.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY