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Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Percy Bysshe Shelley
Age: 29 †
Born: 1792
Born: August 4
Died: 1822
Died: July 8
Linguist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
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Percy Byssche Shelley
Percy Shelley
Shelli Persi Bish
Deserves
Fault
Proportion
Punishment
Faults
Deserve
Nature
Justly
More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep - he hath awakened from the dream of life - 'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife.
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There Is No God. This negation must be understood solely to affect a creative Deity. The hypothesis of a pervading Spirit co-eternal with the universe remains unshaken.
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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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Like a glowworm golden, in a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden its aerial blue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view.
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Death will come when thou art dead, soon, too soon.
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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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The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
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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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I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear.
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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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a single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought
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Honour sits smiling at the sale of truth.
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For there are deeds which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.
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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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The most fertile districts of the habitable globe are now actually cultivated by men for animals, at a delay and waste of aliment absolutely incapable of calculation
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Underneath Day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls
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Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
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Ere Babylon was dust, The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child, Met his own image walking in the garden, That apparition, sole of men, he saw.
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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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O! I burn with impatience for the moment of the dissolution of intolerance it has injured me.
Percy Bysshe Shelley