Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYMan who man would be, must rule the empire of himself.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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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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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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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
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The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset’s fire.
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Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.
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Man who man would be, must rule the empire of himself.
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I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!
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O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
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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.
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Are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar?
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I love tranquil solitude And such society As is quiet, wise, and good.
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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!
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The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors.
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When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid – in which case all comment is superfluous – or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.
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I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY