The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYThe 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.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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I love snow, snow, and all the forms of radiant frost.
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I wish no living thing to suffer pain.
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The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
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Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
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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.
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Life and the world, or whatever we call that which we are and feel, is an astonishing thing. The mist of familiarity obscures from us the wonder of our being. We are struck with admiration at some of its transient modifications, but it is itself the great miracle.
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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 the power of imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no other heaven.
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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.
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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.
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All love is sweet Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
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Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs, – To the silent wilderness, Where the soul need not repress Its music.
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The psychological and moral comfort of a presence at once humble and understanding-this is the greatest benefit that the dog has bestowed upon man.
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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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Honour sits smiling at the sale of truth.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY