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"Concerning God, freewill and destiny: Of all that earth has been or yet may be, all that vain men imagine or believe, or hope can paint or suffering may achieve, we descanted."
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"When a man is wrapped up in himself, he makes a pretty small package."
"After coming into contact with a religious man I always feel I must wash my hands."
"The ideas gained by men before they are twenty-five are practically the only ideas they shall have in their lives."
"Men become civilized, not in proportion to their willingness to believe, but in proportion to their readiness to doubt."
Explore more quotes by Percy Bysshe Shelley
"All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth."
"Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it."
"We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.We rise; one wand'ring thought pollutes the day.We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,The path of its departure still is free.Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;Nought may endure but Mutability!"
"In a drama of the highest order there is little food for censure or hatred; it teaches rather self-knowledge and self-respect."
"I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity."
"O weep for Adonis - He is dead.' 'Peace. He is not dead he doth not sleep - he hath wakened from the dream of life."
"Sorrow, terror, anguish, despair itself are often the chosen expressions of an approximation to the highest good. Our sympathy in tragic fiction depends on this principle; tragedy delights by affording a shadow of the pleasure which exists in pain. This is the source also of the melancholy which is inseparable from the sweetest melody. The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself."
"And in a mad tranceStrike with our spirit's knifeInvulnerable nothingsWe decayLike corpses in a charnelFear & GriefConvulse is & consume usDay by dayAnd cold hopes swarmLike worms withinOur living clay."
"I have sent books and music there, and all / Those instruments with which high spirits call / The future from its cradle, and the past / Out of its grave, and make the present last / In thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot die, / Folded within their own eternity."
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