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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Percy Bysshe Shelley
Age: 29 †
Born: 1792
Born: August 4
Died: 1822
Died: July 8
Linguist
Novelist
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Percy Byssche Shelley
Percy Shelley
Shelli Persi Bish
Difference
Dost
Differences
Tranquil
Wise
Possess
Society
Solitude
Less
Thou
Good
Thee
Things
Seek
Love
Quiet
More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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.
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Where is perfection? Where I cannot reach.
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The soul's joy lies in doing.
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Everytime we say that god is the author of some phenomenon, that signifies that we are ignorant of how such a phenomenon was caused by the forces of nature.
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Words are but holy as the deeds they cover.
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I love all waste And solitary places where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be.
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All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil
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A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively he must put himself in the place of another and of many others the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own.
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The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?
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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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O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
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Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
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Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange
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Power, like a desolating pestilence, Pollutes whate'er it touches and obedience, Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame A mechanized automaton.
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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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Teas, Where small talk dies in agonies.
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... Virtue owns a more eternal foe Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, legal Crime, And bloody Faith the foulest birth of Time.
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My father Time is weak and gray With waiting for a better day See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling with his palsied hands!
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Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep - he hath awakened from the dream of life - 'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep with phantoms an unprofitable strife.
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When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead - When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed.
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