Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Quote by Percy Bysshe Shelley
More Quotes By Percy Bysshe Shelley
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History is a cyclic poem written by Time upon the memories of man.
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We are all Greeks. Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts, have their root in Greece.
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Winter is come and gone,
But grief returns with the revolving year. -
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Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.