John Keats Quotes
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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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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.
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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.
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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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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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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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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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O magic sleep! O comfortable bird,That broodest o’er the troubled sea of the mindTill it is hush’d and smooth!
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To his sightThe husk of natural objects opens quiteTo the core; and every secret essence thereReveals the elements of good and fair;Making him see, where Learning hath no light.
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So many, and so many, and such glee.
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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Pleasure is oft a visitant; but painClings cruelly to us.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong,And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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Ever let the Fancy roam,Pleasure never is at home.
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A drainless showerOf light is poesy; ’tis the supreme of power;’Tis might half slumb’ring on its own right arm.
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O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,Alone and palely loitering?The sedge has wither'd from the lake,And no birds sing.
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He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,In Provence call'd 'La belle dame sans mercy.'
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Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reachTo where the hurrying freshnesses aye preachA natural sermon o’er their pebbly beds;Where swarms of minnows show their little heads,Staying their wavy bodies ’gainst the streams,To taste the luxury of sunny beamsTemper’d with coolness.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,Flushing his brow, and in his pained heartMade purple riot.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
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O for ten years, that I may overwhelmMyself in poesy; so I may do the deedThat my own soul has to itself decreed.
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Forlorn! the very word is like a bellTo toil me back from thee to my sole self!
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Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.