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The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors.

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
Keys
Eternal
Doors
Truth
Jealous

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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.
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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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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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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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The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
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Tragedy delights by affording a shadow of the pleasure which exists in pain.
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I have drunken deep of joy.
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The encomium of one incapable of flattery is indeed flattering.
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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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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.
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Revenge is the naked idol of the worship of a semi-barbarous age.
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Worse than despair, Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope.
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I am convinced that there can be no regeneration of mankind until laughter is put down.
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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The intense atom glows A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Ah! what a divine religion might be found out if charity were really made the principle of it instead of faith.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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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There Is No God. This negation must be understood solely to affect a creative Deity. The hypothesis of a pervading Spirit co-eternal with the universe remains unshaken.
Percy Bysshe Shelley