A dream has power to poison sleep.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
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.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote conveys the emotional numbness that can result from harsh words and a lack of love.
In this quote, Shelley articulates the profound emotional pain that arises when love is absent or when one experiences harshness in relationships. The imagery of 'bloodless veins' and 'sapless leaflets' highlights the chilling effect of bitter words and the void left in the absence of warmth and affection, suggesting that love is vital for emotional vitality.
Themes
LovePainEmotionNumbnessRelationships
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be used in a speech about the importance of kindness in relationships.
More from Percy Bysshe Shelley
All quotes βA 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
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Percy Bysshe ShelleyRead
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