Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe
Shelley
1792
1822

English Romantic Lyric Poet

Author Quotes

Pourest thy full heart.

So is Hope Changed for Despair ? one laid upon the shelf, We take the other. Under heaven's high cope Fortune is god ? all you endure and do Depends on circumstance as much as you.

The breath of accusation kills an innocent name, and leaves for lame acquittal the poor life, which is a mask without it.

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.

Let me set my mournful ditty to a merry measure; thou wilt never come for pity, thou wilt come for pleasure; pity then will cut away those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

Many a green isle needs must be in the deep wide sea of Misery, or the mariner, worn and wan, never thus could voyage on.

Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; this, like thy glory, Titan! is to be good, great, and joyous, beautiful and free; this is alone Life, Joy, Empire and Victory.

O world! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, trembling at that where I had stood before; when will return the glory of your prime? No more -- oh, never more! Out of the day and night a joy has taken flight; fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, move my faint heart with grief, but with delight no more -- oh, never more!

Our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught: our sweetest songs are those which tell of saddest thought.

Power, life a desolating pestilence, pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience, bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, makes slaves of men, and of the human frame, a mechanized automaton.

Some philosophers?and those to whom we are indebted for the most stupendous discoveries in physical science, suppose... that intelligence is the mere result of certain combinations among the particles of its objects; and those among them who believe that we live after death, recur to the interposition of a supernatural power, which shall overcome the tendency inherent in all material combinations, to dissipate and be absorbed into other forms.

The butchering of harmless animals cannot fail to produce much of that spirit of insane and hideous exultation in which news of a victory is related altho' purchased by the massacre of a hundred thousand men. If the use of animal food be, in consequence, subversive to the peace of human society, how unwarrantable is the injustice and barbarity which is exercised toward these miserable victims. They are called into existence by human artifice that they may drag out a short and miserable existence of slavery and disease, that their bodies may be mutilated, their social feelings outraged. It were much better that a sentient being should never have existed, than that it should have existed only to endure unmitigated misery.

The golden years return,

Let the blue sky overhead, the green earth on which ye tread, all that must eternal be witness the solemnity.

Many faint with toil, that few may know the cares and woe of sloth.

No more alone through the world's wilderness, although I trod the paths of high intent, I journeyed now: no more companionless.

O! I burn with impatience for the moment of the dissolution of intolerance; it has injured me.

Ozymandias, I met a traveler from an antique land who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown and wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command tell that its sculptor well those passions read which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, the hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. 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.

Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now many a day and night? Many a weary night and day 'tis since thou are fled away.

Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.

The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose.

The great secret of morals is love.

Let us bring the question to the test of experience and fact; and ask ourselves, considering our nature in its entire extent, what light we derive from a sustained and comprehensive view of its component parts, which may enable us to assert with certainty that we do or do not live after death.

Me ? who am as a nerve o'er which do creep the else unfelt oppressions of this earth, and was to thee the flame upon thy hearth, when all beside was cold: ? that thou on me shouldst rain these plagues of blistering agony!

No more let life divide what death can join together.

Author Picture
First Name
Percy Bysshe
Last Name
Shelley
Birth Date
1792
Death Date
1822
Bio

English Romantic Lyric Poet