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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
Jealous
Keys
Eternal
Doors
Truth

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The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow.
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I am not much of a hand at love songs, you see I mingle metaphysics with even this, but perhaps in this age of Philosophy that may be excused.
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The Galilean is not a favorite of mine. So far from owing him any thanks for his favor, I cannot avoid confessing that I owe a secret grudge to his carpentership.
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He has outsoared the shadow of our night envy and calumny and hate and pain, and that unrest which men miscall delight, can touch him not and torture not again from the contagion of the world's slow stain, he is secure.
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For there are deeds which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.
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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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See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea - What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?
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Ere Babylon was dust, The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child, Met his own image walking in the garden, That apparition, sole of men, he saw.
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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
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I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
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Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
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Sometimes it's better to put love into hugs than to put it into words. Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.
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Men must reap the things they sow, Force from force must ever flow.
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Joy, once lost, is pain
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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I Fall upon the thorns of life.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets food is love and fame.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Chastity is a monkish and evangelical superstition, a greater foe to natural temperance even than unintellectual sensuality it strikes at the root of all domestic happiness, and consigns more than half of the human race to misery.
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By all that is sacred in our hope for the human race, I conjure those who love happiness and truth to give a fair trial to the vegetable system!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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To be omnipotent but friendless is to reign.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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O! I burn with impatience for the moment of the dissolution of intolerance it has injured me.
Percy Bysshe Shelley