Quote

A poet, as he is the author to others of the highest wisdom, pleasure, virtue, and glory, so he ought personally to be the happiest, the best, the wisest, and the most illustrious of men.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

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
Poetry
Illustrious
Ought
Happiest
Virtue
Wisest
Wisdom
Author
Pleasure
Personally
Others
Glory
Best
Poet
Men
Highest

More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Image
Life may change, but it may fly not Hope may vanish, but can die not Truth be veiled, but still it burneth Love repulsed, - but it returneth!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
Whence are we, and why are we? Of what scene The actors or spectators?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid - in which case all comment is superfluous - or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
The quick Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
At the very time that philosophers of the most enterprising benevolence were founding in Greece those institutions which have rendered it the wonder and luminary of the world, am I required to believe that the weak and wicked king of an obscure and barbarous nation, a murderer, a traitor and a tyrant, was the man after God's own heart?
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
A God made by man undoubtedly has need of man to make himself known to man.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
And many an ante-natal tomb Where butterflies dream of the life to come.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
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
Image
The practice of utter sincerity towards other men would avail to no good end, if they were incapable of practising it towards their own minds. In fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
Worse than despair, Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
The same means that have supported every other popular belief have supported Christianity. War, imprisonment, and falsehood deeds of unexampled and incomparable atrocity have made it what it is.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
As long as skies are blue, and fields are green Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
This, and no other, is justice: — to consider, under all the circumstances and consequences of a particular case, how the greatest quantity and purest quality of happiness will ensue from any action ... there is no other justice.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
My neighbour, or my servant, or my child, has done me an injury, and it is just that he should suffer an injury in return. Such is the doctrine which Jesus Christ summoned his whole resources of persuasion to oppose.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
Peace is in the grave.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
Change is certain. Peace is followed by disturbances departure of evil men by their return. Such recurrences should not constitute occasions for sadness but realities for awareness, so that one may be happy in the interim.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
Teas, Where small talk dies in agonies.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Image
The One remains, the many change and pass Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.
Percy Bysshe Shelley