Quote

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
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Percy Byssche Shelley
Percy Shelley
Shelli Persi Bish
Good
Thee
Things
Seek
Love
Quiet
Difference
Dost
Differences
Tranquil
Wise
Possess
Society
Solitude
Less
Thou

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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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Like a glowworm golden, in a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden its aerial blue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view.
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All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.
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As I lay asleep in Italy There came a voice from over the Sea, And with great power it forth led me To walk in the visions of Poesy.
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It is found easier, by the short-sighted victims of disease, to palliate their torments by medicine, than to prevent them by regimen
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Sounds of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain awaken'd flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass
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To be omnipotent but friendless is to reign.
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The intense atom glows A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose.
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The world is weary of the past, Oh, might it die or rest at last!
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I stood within the city disinterred And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls Of spirits passng through the streets and heard the Mountain's slumberous voice at intervals Thrill through those roofless halls The oracular thunder penetrating shook The listening soul in my suspended blood.
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O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
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The crime of inquiry is one which religion never has forgiven.
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Concerning God, freewill and destiny: Of all that earth has been or yet may be, all that vain men imagine or believe, or hope can paint or suffering may achieve, we descanted.
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The rich have become richer, and the poor have become poorer and the vessel of the state is driven between the Scylla and Charybdis of anarchy and despotism.
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For there are deeds which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.
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Teas, Where small talk dies in agonies.
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Not the swart Pariah in some Indian grove, Lone, lean, and hunted by his brother's hate, Hath drunk so deep the cup of bitter fate As that poor wretch who cannot, cannot love: He bears a load which nothing can remove, A killing, withering weight.
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Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
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In a drama of the highest order there is little food for censure or hatred it teaches rather self-knowledge and self-respect.
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