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The howl of self-interest is loud but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Honour sits smiling at the sale of truth.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Honor One Liner Smile Truth
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
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

Laughter Look Pain Sadness Sincere Song Sweet Thinking
I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Death Fear Myself Tremble
The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset’s fire.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Exhaustion Fed Fire Moon Sun 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
Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Beautiful Hide Poetry World
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
Love withers under constraints: its very essence is liberty: it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Essence Fear Jealous Liberty Love Obedience
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Consumption Light Poet Poetry Power
Are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Build Music Oneself Togetherness
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Laughter Myself Rain Thunder Travel
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
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

Earth Fall Rise Sleep Yourself
Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Death Memories Music Soft Vibration Voice
A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Goodness Greatness Happiness Himself Imagination Intense Man Pain Place

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