A dream has power to poison sleep.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
Know what it is to be a child? It is to be something very different from the man of today. It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of Baptism; it is to believe in belief; it is to be so little that elves can reach to whisper in your ear; it is to turn pumpkins into coaches, and mice into horses, lowness into loftiness, and nothing into everything, for each child had its fairy godmother in its soul.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects on the innocence and imaginative spirit of childhood compared to adulthood.
Percy Bysshe Shelley eloquently captures the essence of childhood, emphasizing its purity, imagination, and deep connection to belief and wonder. He contrasts the innocent, transformational qualities of a child's spirit with the often pragmatic and constrained perspective of adulthood, suggesting that every child holds a magical potential within them—a 'fairy godmother' that can turn the impossible into reality, fostering creativity and hope.
Themes
ChildhoodImaginationInnocenceBeliefTransformationWonder
In practice
Example use cases
In a speech about the importance of creativity in education, this quote can highlight the value of encouraging imaginative thinking in children.
More from Percy Bysshe Shelley
All quotes →Senseless is the breast and cold _x000D_ _x000D_ Which relenting love would fold;_x000D_ _x000D_ Bloodless are the veins and chill _x000D_ _x000D_ Which the pulse of pain did fill; _x000D_ _x000D_ Every little living nerve _x000D_ _x000D_ That from bitter words did swerve _x000D_ _x000D_ Round the tortur'd lips and brow, _x000D_ _x000D_ Are like sapless leaflets now _x000D_ _x000D_ Frozen upon December's bough.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
A sensitive plant in a garden grew,_x000D_ _x000D_ And the young winds fed it with silver dew,_x000D_ _x000D_ And it opened its fan_x000D_ _x000D_ like leaves to the light,_x000D_ _x000D_ and closed them beneath the kisses of night.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, 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 again.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
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