A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYIn fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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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 -
If a person’s religious ideas correspond not with your own, love him nevertheless.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
The more we study the more we discover our ignorance.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea – What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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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Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.
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There is no disease, bodily or mental, which adoption of vegetable diet, and pure water has not infallibly mitigated, wherever the experiment has been fairly tried.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Words are but holy as the deeds they cover.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
The howl of self-interest is loud but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.
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Hell is a city much like London A populous and smoky city.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY






