Quote by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

• Winter is come and gone,
  But grief returns with the revolving year.

• Music, when soft voices die,
  Vibrates in the memory;
  Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
  Live within the sense they quicken.

• The more we study, the more we discover our ignorance.

• Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.

• History is a cyclic poem written by Time upon the memories of man.

• A man, to be greatly good, must magine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and in many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own.