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Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief.
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
Echo
Sits
Echoes
Mountains
Grief
Mountain
Voiceless
Lost
Amid
Feeds
More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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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 wild dissolving bliss Over my frame he breathed, approaching near, And bent his eyes of kindling tenderness Near mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss
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Life and the world, or whatever we call that which we are and feel, is an astonishing thing. The mist of familiarity obscures from us the wonder of our being. We are struck with admiration at some of its transient modifications, but it is itself the great miracle.
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You ought to love all mankind nay, every individual of mankind. You ought not to love the individuals of your domestic circles less, but to love those who exist beyond it more.
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Religion pervades intensely the whole frame of society, and is according to the temper of the mind which it inhabits, a passion, a persuasion, an excuse, a refuge never a check.
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The awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats, tho' unseen, amongst us.
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When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindu, his best friends hear no more of him.
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If certain Critics were as clearsighted as they are malignant, how great would be the benefit to be derived from their writings!
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Tragedy delights by affording a shadow of the pleasure which exists in pain.
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The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors.
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The soul's joy lies in doing.
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For love and beauty and delight, there is no death nor change.
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The cloud of mind is discharging its collected lightning.
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Obedience indeed is only the pitiful and cowardly egotism of him who thinks that he can do something better than reason.
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The nature of a narrow and malevolent spirit is so essentially incompatible with happiness as to render it inaccessible to the influences of the benignant God.
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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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I am gone into the fields To take what this sweet hour yields Reflection, you may come to-morrow, Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. You with the unpaid bill, Despair, You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care, I will pay you in the grave, Death will listen to your stave.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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How beautiful is sunset when the glow Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee, Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
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