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It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery.

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
Creed
Creeds
Modest
Pleasant
Rest
Death
Must
Considers
Like
Mockery

More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Dar'st thou amid the varied multitude To live alone, an isolated thing?
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Are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar?
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When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindu, his best friends hear no more of him.
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Joy, once lost, is pain
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As long as skies are blue, and fields are green Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow
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A God made by man undoubtedly has need of man to make himself known to man.
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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.
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Our Adonais has drunk poisonoh! What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Life's early cup with such a draught of woe?
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The same means that have supported every other popular belief have supported Christianity. War, imprisonment, and falsehood deeds of unexampled and incomparable atrocity have made it what it is.
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(Title: To the Moon) Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth,-- And ever-changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do you Hope to inherit in the grave below?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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This, and no other, is justice: — to consider, under all the circumstances and consequences of a particular case, how the greatest quantity and purest quality of happiness will ensue from any action ... there is no other justice.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Peace is in the grave.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
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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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Just a tender sense of my own process, that holds something of my connection with the divine.
Percy Bysshe Shelley