Quote

Reviewers, with some rare exceptions, are a most stupid and malignant race. As a bankrupt thief turns thief-taker in despair, so an unsuccessful author turns critic.

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
Rare
Bankrupt
Critics
Exceptions
Despair
Unsuccessful
Criticism
Thief
Stupid
Critic
Race
Thieves
Taker
Turns
Exception
Malignant
Author
Reviewers

More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
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Power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes whatever it touches.
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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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Their errors have been weighed and found to have been dust in the balance if their sins were as scarlet, they are now white as snow: they have been washed in the blood of the mediator and the redeemer, Time.
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Peace is in the grave.
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O'er Egypt's land of memory floods are level, And they are thine, O Nile! and well thou knowest The soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evil, And fruits, and poisons spring where'er thou flowest.
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Sing again, with your dear voice revealing. A tone Of some world far from ours, where music and moonlight and feeling are one.
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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.
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The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
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Be your strong and simple words Keen to wound as sharpened swords, And wide as targes let them be, With their shade to cover ye.
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To be omnipotent but friendless is to reign.
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I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
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The cloud of mind is discharging its collected lightning.
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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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Near that a dusty paint-box, some odd hooks, A half-burnt match, an ivory block, three books, Where conic sections, spherics, logarithms, To great Laplace, from Saunderson and Sims, Lie heaped in their harmonious disarray Of figures,-disentangle them who may.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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A Christian, a Deist, a Turk, and a Jew, have equal rights: they are men and brethren.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Joy, once lost, is pain
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I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers.
Percy Bysshe Shelley