John Keats Quotes
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The sweet converse of an innocent mind.
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion - I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more - I could be martyred for my religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that.
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And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender’d.
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To one who has been long in city pent,’Tis very sweet to look into the fairAnd open face of heaven.
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Wherein lies happiness? In that which becksOur ready minds to fellowship divine,A fellowship with essence; till we shine,Full alchemiz’d, and free of space. BeholdThe clear religion of heaven!
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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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There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.
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The imagination may be compared to Adam's dream - he awoke and found it truth.
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I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
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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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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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I saw pale kings and princes too,Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;They cried- 'La Belle Dame sans MerciHath thee in thrall!'
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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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'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' - that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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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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In spite of all,Some shape of beauty moves away the pallFrom our dark spirits.
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As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.
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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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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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A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.
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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 have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.