Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYWar is the statesman’s game, the priest’s delight, the lawyer’s jest, the hired assassin’s trade.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.
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In fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
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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.
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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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The howl of self-interest is loud but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.
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It is not a merit to tolerate, but rather a crime to be intolerant.
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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 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.
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Before man can be free, and equal, and truly wise, he must cast aside the chains of habit and superstition; he must strip sensuality of its pomp, and selfishness of its excuses, and contemplate actions and objects as they really are.
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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.
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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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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!
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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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And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
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O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY