John Keats

Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?

Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.

... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.

But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!

They swayed about upon a rocking horse, And thought it Pegasus.

I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!

Though the most beautiful creature were waiting for me at the end of a journey or a walk; though the carpet were of silk, the curtains of the morning clouds; the chairs and sofa stuffed with cygnet's down; the food manna, the wine beyond claret, the window opening on Winander Mere, I should not feel -or rather my happiness would not be so fine, as my solitude is sublime.

A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the mystery of his life, a life like the scriptures, figurative.

It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.

What is more gentle than a wind is summer?

I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.

For Poesy alone can tell her dreams, With the fine spell of words alone can save Imagination from the sable charm And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say, ‘Thou art no Poet may’st not tell thy dreams?’ Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved And been well nurtured in his mother tongue. Whether the dream now purpos’d to rehearse Be poet’s or fanatic’s will be known When this warm scribe my hand is in the grave.

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.

I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever

Life is but a day; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit.

If something is not beautiful, it is probably not true.

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

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?

Who, of men, can tell_x000D_ _x000D_ That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell_x000D_ _x000D_ To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail,_x000D_ _x000D_ The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale,_x000D_ _x000D_ The meadows runnels, runnels pebble-stones,_x000D_ _x000D_ The seed its harvest, or the lute its tones,_x000D_ _x000D_ Tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet,_x000D_ _x000D_ If human souls did never kiss and greet?

That queen of secrecy, the violet.