Quotes from Percy Bysshe Shelley

And bid them love each other and be blest: And leave the troop which errs, and which reproves, And come and be my guest, - for I am Love's.

For love and beauty and delight, there is no death nor change.

If a person's religious ideas correspond not with your own, love him nevertheless

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.

Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave.

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.

Love's Pestilence, and her slow dogs of war.

Poet's food is love and fame.

I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less.

I love all waste and solitary places.

Ah! what a divine religion might be found out if charity were really made the principle of it instead of faith.

I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feetHas led me- who knows how?To thy chamber-window, Sweet!

All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.

The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom.

It is easier to suppose that the universe has existed from all eternity than to conceive a Being beyond its limits capable of creating it.

As a bankrupt thief turns thief-taker in despair, so an unsuccessful author turns critic.

History is: Fables agreed upon - Voltaire The biography of a few stout and earnest persons - Ralph Waldo Emerson A vast Mississippi of falsehood - Matthew Arnold A confused heap of facts - Lord Chesterfield A cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man -

War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, the lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade.

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.

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 are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me?

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.

How many a rustic Milton has passed by, Stifling the speechless longings of his heart In unremitting drudgery and care! How many a vulgar Cato has compelled His energies, no longer tameless then, To mold a pin, or fabricate a nail!

How many a rustic Milton has passed by, Stifling the speechless longings of his heart, In unremitting drudgery and care! How many a vulgar Cato has compelled His energies, no longer tameless then, To mould a pin, or fabricate a nail!