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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
Sweet
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Sound
Sits
Cheer
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Solitude
Poet
Creativity
Nightingale
Darkness
Nightingales
More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle Such lamps within the dome of this dim world That the pale name of priest might shrink and dwindle Into the Hell from which it first was furled.
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It is easier to suppose that the universe has existed for all eternity than to conceive a being beyond its limits capable of creating it.
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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.
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Our Adonais has drunk poisonoh! What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Life's early cup with such a draught of woe?
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I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Joy, once lost, is pain
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Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
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That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.
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Through the sunset of hope, Like the shapes of a dream, What paradise islands of glory gleam!
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All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil
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... a wild dissolving bliss Over my frame he breathed, approaching near, And bent his eyes of kindling tenderness Near mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss
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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?
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The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors.
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The great instrument of moral good is the imagination.
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It is true that the reluctance to abstain from animal food, in those who have been long accustomed to its stimulus, is so great in some persons of weak minds, as to be scarcely overcome but this is far from bringing any argument in its favour
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True love in this differs from gold and clay, that to divide is not to take away. Love is like understanding, that grows bright, gazing on many truths.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
I am not much of a hand at love songs, you see I mingle metaphysics with even this, but perhaps in this age of Philosophy that may be excused.
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
I am gone into the fields To take what this sweet hour yields Reflection, you may come to-morrow, Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. You with the unpaid bill, Despair, You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care, I will pay you in the grave, Death will listen to your stave.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
