John Keats Quotes
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Was it a vision, or a waking dream?Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?
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Open afresh your round of starry folds,Ye ardent marigolds!
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But strength alone though of the Muses bornIs like a fallen angel: trees uptorn,Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchresDelight it; for it feeds upon the burrs,And thorns of life; forgetting the great endOf poesy, that it should be a friendTo sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man.
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'For cruel ’tis,' said she,'To steal my Basil-pot away from me.'
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But when the melancholy fit shall fallSudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,And hides the green hill in an April shroud;Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose.
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Asleep in lap of legends old.
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I am certain I have not a right feeling towards women - at this moment I am striving to be just to them, but I cannot. Is it because they fall so far beneath my boyish imagination? When I was a schoolboy I thought a fair woman a pure Goddess; my mind was a soft nest in which some one of them slept, though she knew it not.
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My restless spirit never could endureTo brood so long upon one luxury,Unless it did, though fearfully, espyA hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
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So let me be thy choir, and make a moanUpon the midnight hours
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I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,The air was cooling, and so very still,That the sweet buds which with a modest pridePull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems,Had not yet lost those starry diademsCaught from the early sobbing of the morn.
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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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I myself am pursuing the same instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can think of - I am, however young, writing at random - straining at particles of light in the midst of a great darkness - without knowing the bearing of any one assertion, of any one opinion. Yet may I not in this be free from sin?
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You might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore.
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At once it struck me what quality went to form a man of achievement, especially in literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean negative capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
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Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degreesHer rich attire creeps rustling to her knees.
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'Tis the pestOf love, that fairest joys give most unrest.
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I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.
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None can usurp this height...But those to whom the miseries of the worldAre misery, and will not let them rest.
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Music's golden tongueFlatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me.