Percy Bysshe Shelley Quotes

I still love you. And sometimes, my friend, the love that I have, and can't give to you, crushes the breath from my chest. Sometimes, even now, my heart is drowning in a sorrow that has no stars without you, and no laughter, and no sleep.

someone's sent a loving note in lines of returning geese and as the moon fills my western chamber as petals dance over the flowing stream again I think of you the two of us living a sadness apart a hurt that can't be removed yet when my gaze comes down my heart stays up

My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed with words Which voice the passion and the ache of things: Illusions beating with their baffled wings Against the walls of circumstance.

Fro and to in my dreams to you To the haunting tune of the harp For the price I paid when you died that day I paid that day with my heart Fro and to in my dreams to you With the breaking of my heart Ne'er more again will I sing this song Ne'er more will I hear the harp.

I guess that's why they call it the blues, time on my hands could be time spent with you.

And sometimes when the night is slow The wretched and the meek We gather up our hearts and go A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.

Nostalgia is something we think of as fuzzy. But it's pain. Pain concerning the past.

I have a taste for a kind of melancholy and for being an absolute victim of love.

Life is pain and the enjoyment of love is an anesthetic.

For the most part, that message hasn't changed a lot over the years - love is still love, and heartbreak is still heartbreak.

I know for works for me - those wonderful sad love songs.

Music breaks my heart constantly.

Love and despair go hand in hand.

Romantic love is painful.

Homesickness is universal. But Neapolitan homesickness goes back further than the accidents of domicile. It is nostalgia for love and loss themselves, a soul-sickness caused by the very idea of leaving.

At the heart of all romanticism is suffering.

There's a sadness about love, a melancholy and a sadness about beauty. It's just part of the human experience of living on this planet.

All the best songs have an element of sadness.

He looks out into the empty street, allowing me to sit in his car and just miss her. To miss her each time I pull in a breath of air. To miss her with a heart that feels so cold by itself, but warm when thoughts of her flow through me.

My purpose, my whole life, had been to love him and be with him, to make him happy. I didn’t want to cause any unhappiness now—in that way, I decided it was probably better than he wasn’t here to see this, though I missed him so much at that moment the ache of it was as bad as the strange pains in my belly.

And all the trips you know you missed And all the lips you never kissed Cut through you like a knife. And now you see stretched out before thee Just another story of a life.

O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head You'd know the folly of being comforted.

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.