This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYThe rich have become richer, and the poor have become poorer; and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea – What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
There is no disease, bodily or mental, which adoption of vegetable diet, and pure water has not infallibly mitigated, wherever the experiment has been fairly tried.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Words are but holy as the deeds they cover.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poorer; and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, when the winds are breathing low, and the stars are shining bright.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Honour sits smiling at the sale of truth.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
It is not a merit to tolerate, but rather a crime to be intolerant.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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 -
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.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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 -
Strange thoughts beget strange deeds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY