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Nature rejects the monarch, not the man the subject, not the citizen... The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
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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Poet
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Percy Byssche Shelley
Percy Shelley
Shelli Persi Bish
Subjects
Monarch
Citizens
Monarchs
Nature
Commands
Soul
Rejects
Men
Virtuous
Citizen
Command
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Obeys
More quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.
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Death will come when thou art dead, soon, too soon.
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Be your strong and simple words Keen to wound as sharpened swords, And wide as targes let them be, With their shade to cover ye.
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Religion! but for thee, prolific fiend, Who peoplest earth with demons, hell with men, And heaven with slaves!
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Till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!
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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.
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I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me- who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet!
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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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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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Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
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Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.
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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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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.
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I consider poetry very subordinate to moral and political science.
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Peace is in the grave.
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I have drunken deep of joy.
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Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
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And many more Destructions played In this ghastly masquerade, All disguised, even to the eyes, Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Joy, once lost, is pain
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
Percy Bysshe Shelley