Strange thoughts beget strange deeds.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEYSometimes The Devil is a gentleman.
More Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes
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Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
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The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
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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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Familiar acts are beautiful through love.
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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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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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When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead – When the cloud is scattered The rainbow’s glory is shed.
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A single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought.
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Hell is a city much like London A populous and smoky city.
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First our pleasures die – and then our hopes, and then our fears – and when these are dead, the debt is due dust claims dust – and we die too.
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I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
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The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
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Honour sits smiling at the sale of truth.
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I love snow, snow, and all the forms of radiant frost.
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If God has spoken, why is the world not convinced.
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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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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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This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
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The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors.
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I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
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The great instrument of moral good is the imagination.
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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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Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
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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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I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers.
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It is not a merit to tolerate, but rather a crime to be intolerant.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY