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The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want: worse need for them. The wise want love and those who love want wisdom.

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
Wisdom
Powerful
Unbound
Power
Barren
Need
Weep
Needs
Goodness
Good
Worse
Love
Tears
Wise

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Woe is me! The winged words on which my soul would pierce Into the heights of love's rare universe, Are chains of lead around its flight of fire-- I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire.
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The crime of inquiry is one which religion never has forgiven.
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Whatever strengthens and purifies the affections, enlarges the imagination, and adds spirit to sense, is useful.
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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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Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may last!
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The more we study the more we discover our ignorance.
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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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Belief is involuntary nothing involuntary is meritorious or reprehensible. A man ought not to be considered worse or better for his belief.
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This is Heaven, when pain and evil cease, and when the Benignant Principle, untrammelled and uncontrolled, visits in the fulness of its power the universal frame of things.
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Thou demandest what is love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves, when we find within our own thoughts the chasm of an insufficient void, and seek to awaken in all things that are, a community with what we experience within ourselves.
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The cloud of mind is discharging its collected lightning.
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Among true and real friends, all is common and were ignorance and envy and superstition banished from the world, all mankind would be friend.
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Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle Such lamps within the dome of this dim world That the pale name of priest might shrink and dwindle Into the Hell from which it first was furled.
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Gentleness, Virtue, Wisdom, and Endurance, These are the seals of that most firm assurance Which bars the pit over Destruction's strength And if, with infirm hand, Eternity, Mother of many acts and hours, should free The serpent that would clasp her with his length These are the spells by which to reassume An empire o'er the disentangled doom.
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Honour sits smiling at the sale of truth.
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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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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.
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I love Love -- though he has wings, And like light can flee.
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For there are deeds which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.
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Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
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