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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Percy Bysshe Shelley
Age: 29 †
Born: 1792
Born: August 4
Died: 1822
Died: July 8
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Percy Byssche Shelley
Percy Shelley
Shelli Persi Bish
Solitude
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Creativity
Nightingale
Darkness
Nightingales
Sweet
Sings
Sound
Sits
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Sounds
More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Belief is involuntary nothing involuntary is meritorious or reprehensible. A man ought not to be considered worse or better for his belief.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The advocates of literal interpretation have been the most efficacious enemies of those doctrines whose nature they profess to venerate.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Jealousy's eyes are green.
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Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief.
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Thou demandest what is love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves, when we find within our own thoughts the chasm of an insufficient void, and seek to awaken in all things that are, a community with what we experience within ourselves.
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Religion! but for thee, prolific fiend, Who peoplest earth with demons, hell with men, And heaven with slaves!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Whatever may be his true and final destination, there is a spirit within him at enmity with nothingness and dissolution. This is the character of all life and being.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The breath Of accusation kills an innocent name, And leaves for lame acquittal the poor life, Which is a mask without it.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
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The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
[L]ike thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough year just awake In its cradle on the brake. The brightest hour of unborn Spring, Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn To hoar February born.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number- Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many-they are few.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The nature of a narrow and malevolent spirit is so essentially incompatible with happiness as to render it inaccessible to the influences of the benignant God.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Worlds on worlds are rolling ever From creation to decay, Like the bubbles on a river Sparkling, bursting, borne away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Our Adonais has drunk poisonoh! What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Life's early cup with such a draught of woe?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Power, like a desolating pestilence, Pollutes whate'er it touches and obedience, Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame A mechanized automaton.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing. A tone Of some world far from ours, where music and moonlight and feeling are one.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Mild is the slow necessity of death The tranquil spirit fails beneath its grasp, Without a groan, almost without a fear, Resigned in peace to the necessity Calm as a voyager to some distant land, And full of wonder, full of hope as he.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Men must reap the things they sow, Force from force must ever flow.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
