Occupation: Poet Birth: August 4, 1792 Death: July 8, 1822
For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face. I now Say what I think..
For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower; Radiance and odour are not its dower; It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, It desires what….
There is no real wealth but the labour of man. Were the mountains of gold and the valleys of silver, the world would not be one grain of corn the ric….
There is no real wealth but the labour of man..
If a person's religious ideas correspond not with your own, love him nevertheless.
You ought to love all mankind; nay, every individual of mankind. You ought not to love the individuals of your domestic circles less, but to love tho….
Persevere even though Hell and destruction should yawn beneath your feet..
If we reason, we would be understood; if we imagine, we would that the airy children of our brain were born anew within another's; if we feel, we wou….
Honour sits smiling at the sale of truth..
True Love in this differs from gold and clay, That to divide is not to take away. Love is like understanding, that grows bright, Gazing on many tr….
The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom..
It is only by hearsay (by word of mouth passed down from generation to generation) that whole peoples adore the God of their fathers and of their pri….
Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves..
It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery..
But Greece and her foundations are Built below the tide of war, Based on the crystalline sea Of thought and its eternity; Her citizens, imperial spir….
Hell is a city much like London A populous and smoky city.
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unex….
Death will come when thou art dead, soon, too soon..
The great instrument of moral good is the imagination..
The great secret of morals is love; or a going out of our nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, acti….
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it a….