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War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, the lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade.

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
Trade
Jest
Game
Hired
Games
Statesmen
Peace
Priest
War
Antiwar
Assassin
Priests
Statesmanship
Lawyer
Assassins
Delight
Statesman

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This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.
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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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He has outsoared the shadow of our night envy and calumny and hate and pain, and that unrest which men miscall delight, can touch him not and torture not again from the contagion of the world's slow stain, he is secure.
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The practice of utter sincerity towards other men would avail to no good end, if they were incapable of practising it towards their own minds. In fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
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Peter was dull he was at first Dull - Oh, so dull - so very dull! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed - Still with his dulness was he cursed - Dull -beyond all conception - dull.
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February... Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kissed the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains.
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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.
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No more let life divide what death can join together.
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You ought to love all mankind nay, every individual of mankind. You ought not to love the individuals of your domestic circles less, but to love those who exist beyond it more.
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As I lay asleep in Italy There came a voice from over the Sea, And with great power it forth led me To walk in the visions of Poesy.
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I Fall upon the thorns of life.
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The awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats, tho' unseen, amongst us.
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It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery.
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Whatever strengthens and purifies the affections, enlarges the imagination, and adds spirit to sense, is useful.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Image of rugged cliffs And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
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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
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I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.
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Tragedy delights by affording a shadow of the pleasure which exists in pain.
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Love, from its awful throne of patient power In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour Of dread endurance, from the slippery, steep, And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs And folds over the world its healing wings.
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In a drama of the highest order there is little food for censure or hatred it teaches rather self-knowledge and self-respect.
Percy Bysshe Shelley