John Keats Quotes
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I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.
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You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.
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And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender’d.
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Sometimes goldfinches one by one will dropFrom low hung branches; little space they stop;But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek;Then off at once, as in a wanton freak:Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wingsPausing upon their yellow flutterings.
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The silver snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.
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Some think I have lost that poetical ardour and fire 'tis said I once had- the fact is, perhaps I have; but, instead of that, I hope I shall substitute a more thoughtful and quiet power.
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And other spirits there are standing apartUpon the forehead of the age to come;These, these will give the world another heart,And other pulses. Hear ye not the humOf mighty workings in a distant mart?Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.
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And such too is the grandeur of the doomsWe have imagined for the mighty dead;All lovely tales that we have heard or read:An endless fountain of immortal drink,Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.
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For to bear all naked truths,And to envisage circumstance, all calm,That is the top of sovereignty.
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Axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses: we read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.
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Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
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But were there ever anyWrith'd not of passed joy?The feel of not to feel it,When there is none to heal it,Nor numbed sense to steel it,Was never said in rhyme.
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Pleasure is oft a visitant; but painClings cruelly to us.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
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Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast,As down she knelt for heaven’s grace and boon;Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest.
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I think I shall be among the English Poets after my death.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forgetWhat thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, and the fretHere, where men sit and hear each other groan;Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;Where but to think is to be full of sorrowAnd leaden-eyed despairs.
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There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.
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As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.
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'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' - that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
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I compare human life to a large mansion of many apartments, two of which I can only describe, the doors of the rest being as yet shut upon me.