All love is sweet Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYRise 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.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
When the power of imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no other heaven.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
In fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Sometimes it’s better to put love into hugs than to put it into words. Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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!
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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 -
I wish no living thing to suffer pain.
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 -
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 -
I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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 -
I love all waste And solitary places; where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY