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.
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Percy Bysshe Shelley
More Quotes By Percy Bysshe Shelley
The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?
Soul meets soul on lovers lips.
Our sweetest songs are those of saddest thought.
In fact, the truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived.
God is an hypothesis, and, as such, stands in need of proof: the onus probandi rests on the theist.
