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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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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
Change
Still
Repulsed
May
Veiled
Love
Vanish
Life
Dies
Hope
Stills
Truth

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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
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A poet, as he is the author to others of the highest wisdom, pleasure, virtue, and glory, so he ought personally to be the happiest, the best, the wisest, and the most illustrious of men.
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The encomium of one incapable of flattery is indeed flattering.
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Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
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Love is free to promise for ever to love the same woman is not less absurd than to promise to believe the same creed such a vow in both cases excludes us from all inquiry.
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Contemporary criticism only represents the amount of ignorance genius has to contend with. . . . Time will reverse the judgement of the vulgar.
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A Christian, a Deist, a Turk, and a Jew, have equal rights: they are men and brethren.
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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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The advocates of literal interpretation have been the most efficacious enemies of those doctrines whose nature they profess to venerate.
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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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For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower Radiance and odour are not its dower It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, It desires what it has not, the beautiful.
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The great secret of morals is Love or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own.
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.
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So soon as this want or power [of love] is dead, man becomes the living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the mere husk of what once he was.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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
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Underneath Day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Nature rejects the monarch, not the man the subject, not the citizen... The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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O! I burn with impatience for the moment of the dissolution of intolerance it has injured me.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Jealousy's eyes are green.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley