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Chastity is a monkish and evangelical superstition, a greater foe to natural temperance even than unintellectual sensuality it strikes at the root of all domestic happiness, and consigns more than half of the human race to misery.

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
Even
Roots
Chastity
Race
Foe
Greater
Superstition
Happiness
Superstitions
Half
Domestic
Natural
Root
Sensuality
Human
Strikes
Temperance
Humans
Misery
Evangelical

More quotes by 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.
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Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
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O world! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb
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I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less.
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And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.
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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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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.
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Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine, In one spirit meet and mingle-Why not I with thine?
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What is Freedom? ye can tell That which slavery is, too well For its very name has grown To an echo of your own.
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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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He gave man speech, and speech created thought, Which is the measure of the universe.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats, tho' unseen, amongst us.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Thus suicidal selfishness, that blights The fairest feelings of the opening heart, Is destined to decay, whilst from the soil Shall spring all virtue, all delight, all love, And judgment cease to wage unnatural war With passion's unsubduable array.
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Gold is a living god and rules in scorn, All earthly things but virtue.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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I am convinced that there can be no regeneration of mankind until laughter is put down.
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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.
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I Fall upon the thorns of life.
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Where is perfection? Where I cannot reach.
Percy Bysshe Shelley