Joy, once lost, is pain.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYLove’s very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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Nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon.
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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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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
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When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid – in which case all comment is superfluous – or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
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I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
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Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine, In one spirit meet and mingle-Why not I with thine?
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY -
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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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.
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If a person’s religious ideas correspond not with your own, love him nevertheless.
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This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
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The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
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Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
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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?
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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.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY