Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
All high poetry is infinite; it is as the first acorn, which contained all oaks potentially.
Just a tender sense of my own process, that holds something of my connection with the divine.
The howl of self-interest is loud ... but the heart is black which throbs solely to its note.
Image of rugged cliffs And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Through the sunset of hope, Like the shapes of a dream, What paradise islands of glory gleam!
When the power of imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no other heaven.
O! I burn with impatience for the moment of the dissolution of intolerance; it has injured me.
Far clouds of feathery gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea.
We are all Greeks. Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts, have their root in Greece.
For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face. I now Say what I think.
I have made my bed In charnels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won
War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, the lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade.
God is a hypothesis, and, as such, stands in need of proof; the onus probandi rests on the theist.
In proportion as a man is selfish, so far has he receded from the motive which constitutes virtue.
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
A system could not well have been devised more studiously hostile to human happiness than marriage.
Titles are tinsel, power a corrupter, glorya bubble, and excessive wealth a libel on its possessor.
Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
Till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!
Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.
The babe is at peace within the womb, the corpse is at rest within the tomb. We begin in what we end.
Fame, power, and gold, are loved for their own sakes - are worshipped with a blind, habitual idolatry.
All love is sweet Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
Sometimes it's better to put love into hugs than to put it into words. Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.
I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear.
It is vain philosophy that supposes more causes than are exactly adequate to explain the phenomena of things.
What is Love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves.
Let the blue sky overhead, The green earth on which ye tread, All that must eternal be Witness the solemnity.
I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me- who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet!
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it.
Religion! but for thee, prolific fiend, Who peoplest earth with demons, hell with men, And heaven with slaves!
Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave.
Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine, In one spirit meet and mingle-Why not I with thine?
Ah! what a divine religion might be found out if charity were really made the principle of it instead of faith.
How beautiful is sunset when the glow Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee, Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
Whatever strengthens and purifies the affections, enlarges the imagination, and adds spirit to sense, is useful.
Love's very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.
What is Freedom? ye can tell That which slavery is, too well For its very name has grown To an echo of your own.
O weep for Adonis - He is dead." "Peace. He is not dead he doth not sleep - he hath wakened from the dream of life
Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker.
When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead - When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed.
The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?
Underneath Day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls
All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.
Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
Worlds on worlds are rolling ever From creation to decay, Like the bubbles on a river Sparkling, bursting, borne away.
Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal.
Obedience indeed is only the pitiful and cowardly egotism of him who thinks that he can do something better than reason.
Our Adonais has drunk poisonoh! What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Life's early cup with such a draught of woe?