John Keats Quotes

It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores

I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.

That queen of secrecy, the violet.

Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.

What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move My heart so potently?

Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown.

Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.

Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

My creed is love and you are its only tenet.

Tall oaks branch charmed by the earnest stars Dream and so dream all night without a stir.

I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you.

Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu

An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever; and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.

Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.

Every fresh experience points out some form of error which we shall afterwards carefully avoid.

There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music.

Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.

It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.

I have had a thousand kisses, for which with my whole soul I thank love—but if you should deny me the thousand and first—‘t would put me to the proof how great a misery I could live through.

Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.

Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.

The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.

I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, With a silken thread of my own hands' weaving.

I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.

I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried- "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!

Though a quarrel in the streets is a thing to be hated, the energies displayed in it are fine; the commonest man shows a grace in his quarrel.

She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.

No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.

Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.

I find I cannot exist without Poetry

Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.

Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.

In the long vista of the years to roll,\\ Let me not see my country's honor fade;\\ Oh! let me see our land retain its soul!\\ Her pride in Freedom, and not Freedom's shade.

A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory.

To Sorrow I bade good-morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly: She is so constant to me, and so kind.

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.

Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings?

Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.

I wish to believe in immortality-I wish to live with you forever.

But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.

For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.

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.

There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.

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.

I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.

Health is my expected heaven.

Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.

O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?

There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.