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To hope till hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates.

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
Translator
Percy Byssche Shelley
Percy Shelley
Shelli Persi Bish
Contemplating
Creates
Unbound
Till
Contemplates
Hope
Prometheus
Thing
Omnipotent
Wreck
Wrecks

More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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No one has yet been found resolute enough in dogmatizing to deny that Nature made man equal that society has destroyed this equality is a truth not more incontrovertible.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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[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
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Image of rugged cliffs And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present the words which express what they understand not the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire the influence which is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Yes, marriage is hateful, detestable. A kind of ineffable, sickening disgust seizes my mind when I think of this most despotic, most unrequited fetter which prejudice has forged to confine its energies.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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And many an ante-natal tomb Where butterflies dream of the life to come.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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And many more Destructions played In this ghastly masquerade, All disguised, even to the eyes, Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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In each human heart terror survives The ravin it has gorged: the loftiest fear All that they would disdain to think were true: Hypocrisy and custom make their minds The fanes of many a worship, now outworn. They dare not devise good for man's estate, And yet they know not that they do not dare.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Joy, once lost, is pain
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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
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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark--now glittering--now reflecting gloom-- Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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So is Hope Changed for Despair-one laid upon the shelf, We take the other. Under heaven's high cope Fortune is god-all you endure and do Depends on circumstance as much as you.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Life may change, but it may fly not Hope may vanish, but can die not Truth be veiled, but still it burneth Love repulsed, - but it returneth!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not Like stars to their appointed height they climb And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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I love all waste And solitary places where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be.
Percy Bysshe Shelley