John Keats Quotes
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may findThee sitting careless on a granary floor,Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hookSpares the next swath and all its twined flowers.
John Keats
Quotes to Explore
I love children. I just don't know if I'm ready to have kids. I feel like I have more time. Kids are cute, you know? They need a lot of help - that's the thing.
Taylor Schilling
I love dogs. I have a Golden Doodle and an Alaskan Klee Kai.
Halston Sage
When you're bad in the NBA, you're in the lottery. When you're great in college, you get multiple lottery picks.
Larry Brown
Applause is the spur of noble minds, the end and aim of weak ones.
Edmund Burke
One of the reasons I love writing for middle graders, besides their voracious appetite for books, is their deep concern for fairness and morality.
K. A. Applegate
I grew up in New York till I was 5, and I remember going to see 'Annie' and some musicals as a kid, and I remember my parents being somewhat okay with us watching 'Rocky Horror Picture Show,' which, it boggles my mind that they allowed me to watch it.
Gabriel Macht
The pace at which people are taking to digital technology defies our stereotypes of age, education, language and income.
Narendra Modi
I don't have any style icons, but I get inspiration from my friends. My style motto is that it is better to be overdressed than underdressed.
Hannah Kearney
Sure, the first light snowfall may be a chance to dance giddily, leaving squeaky footprints through the neighborhood, marking the runner's right to the domain. But later drubbings of snow merely complicate running. Snow turns to ice, to slush, to ice again. Tire ruts twist ankles. New snow hides the hazards.
Don Kardong
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may findThee sitting careless on a granary floor,Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hookSpares the next swath and all its twined flowers.
John Keats