708 Quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.

It is found easier, by the short-sighted victims of disease, to palliate their torments by medicine, than to prevent them by regimen.

In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun O’er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

Sow seed – but let no tyrant reap; Find wealth – let no imposter heap; Weave robes – let not the idle wear; Forge arms – in your defence to bear.

Hell is a city much like London.

When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead – When the cloud is scattered The rainbow’s glory is shed...

Man’s yesterday may never be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.

Swiftly walk o’er the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joyand fear, Which make thee terrible and dear, Swift be thy flight!

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.