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History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Related Topics

History Man Memories Poem Writing

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Cry Fear Future Past
The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Happiness Sorrow Sweet
The psychological and moral comfort of a presence at once humble and understanding-this is the greatest benefit that the dog has bestowed upon man.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Comfortable Dog Humble Man Moral Presence
Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, – but it returneth!
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Change Death Fly Hope Life Return Truth
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Bed Death Earth Failure Flower Leaving Lying Sun Warm Wind
Love’s very pain is sweet.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Love One Liner Pain Sweet
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 SHELLEY

Beyond Build Death Deep Divine Grave Love Pain Reward Sweet World
The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Command Man Obey Soul Virtue
Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Death Memories Music Soft Vibration Voice
First our pleasures die – and then our hopes, and then our fears – and when these are dead, the debt is due dust claims dust – and we die too.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Death Fear Happiness Hope Ourselves
War is the statesman’s game, the priest’s delight, the lawyer’s jest, the hired assassin’s trade.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Game Law Trade War
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Bird Cheerful Darkness Poet Solitude Sound Sweet
This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Appearance Beautiful Lake Myself
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

Garden Growth Kiss Light Night Open Plant Wind Young
All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Learning Man Mistake Ourselves Worth Youth
The great instrument of moral good is the imagination.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Goodness Greatness Imagination Instrument Moral

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