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 SHELLEYBefore 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.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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Strange thoughts beget strange deeds.
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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 -
Joy, once lost, is pain.
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Love’s very pain is sweet.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
In fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
War is the statesman’s game, the priest’s delight, the lawyer’s jest, the hired assassin’s trade.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Government is an evil; it is only the thoughtlessness and vices of men that make it a necessary evil. When all men are good and wise, government will of itself decay.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
All love is sweet Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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 -
The howl of self-interest is loud but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Hell is a city much like London A populous and smoky city.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY