| Quote | Author | Send |
 A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal
truth.
| P.B. Shelley | 
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A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to
cheer it’s own solitude with sweet sounds. | P.B. Shelley |
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Death is here and death is there,
Death is busy every where,
All round, within, beneath,
Above is death and we are death. | P.B. Shelley |
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First our pleasures die – and then
Our hopes, and then our fears – and when
These are dead, the debt is due,
Dust claims dust – and we die too. | P.B. Shelley |
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He was a coward to the strong :
He was a tyrant to the weak. | P.B. Shelley |
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I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
and the stars are shining bright. | P.B. Shelley |
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I have drunken deep of joy,
And I will taste no other wine tonight. | P.B. Shelley |
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Life like a dome of manycoloured glass
Stains the white radiance of Eternity. | P.B. Shelley |
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Life may change, but it may fly not;
Hope may vanish, but can die not;
Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;
Love repulsed, but it returneth ! | P.B. Shelley |
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Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory. | P.B. Shelley |
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Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught. | P.B. Shelley |
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Our sweetest songs are those which tell of saddest
thought. | P.B. Shelley |
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Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments
of the happiest and best minds. | P.B. Shelley |
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Power, like a desolating pestilence,
Pollutes what’re it touches. | P.B. Shelley |
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Roseleaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on. | P.B. Shelley |
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