Explore Quotes by John Keats

I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!

Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.

Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably

O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the Evening listens.

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.

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.

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

My passions are all asleep from my having slumbered till nearly eleven and weakened the animal fiber all over me to a delightful sensation about three degrees on this sight of faintness - if I had teeth of pearl and the breath of lilies I should call it languor - but as I am I must call it laziness. In this state of effeminacy the fibers of the brain are relaxed in common with the rest of the body, and to such a happy degree that pleasure has no show of enticement and pain no unbearable frown. Neither poetry, nor ambition, nor love have any alertness of countenance as they pass by me.

Are there not thousands in the world who love their fellows even to the death, who feel the giant agony of the world, and more, like slaves to poor humanity, labor for mortal good?

I equally dislike the favor of the public with the love of a woman - they are both a cloying treacle to the wings of independence.

The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence.

Shed no tear - O, shed no tear! _x000D__x000D_The flower will bloom another year. _x000D__x000D_Weep no more - O, weep no more!_x000D__x000D_Young buds sleep in the root's white core.

We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.

How I like claret!...It fills one's mouth with a gushing freshness, then goes down to cool and feverless; then, you do not feel it quarrelling with one's liver. No; 'tis rather a peace-maker, and lies as quiet as it did in the grape. Then it is as fragrant as the Queen Bee, and the more ethereal part mounts into the brain, not assaulting the cerebral apartments, like a bully looking for his trull, and hurrying from door to door, bouncing against the wainscott, but rather walks like Aladdin about his enchanted palace, so gently that you do not feel his step.

Knowledge enormous makes a God of me._x000D__x000D_Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions,_x000D__x000D_Majesties, sovran voices, agonies,_x000D__x000D_Creations and destroyings, all at once_x000D__x000D_Pour into the wide hollows of my brain,_x000D__x000D_And deify me, as if some blithe wine_x000D__x000D_Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk,_x000D__x000D_And so become immortal.

Give me women, wine and snuff_x000D__x000D_Until I cry out 'hold, enough!'_x000D__x000D_You may do so san objection_x000D__x000D_Till the day of resurrection;_x000D__x000D_For bless my beard then aye shall be_x000D__x000D_My beloved Trinity.

Souls of poets dead and gone, _x000D__x000D_What Elysium have ye known, _x000D__x000D_Happy field or mossy cavern, _x000D__x000D_Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? _x000D__x000D_Have ye tippled drink more fine _x000D__x000D_Than mine host's Canary wine?

Load every rift with ore.

I always made an awkward bow.

How astonishingly does the chance of leaving the world improve a sense of its natural beauties upon us. Like poor Falstaff, although I do not 'babble,' I think of green fields; I muse with the greatest affection on every flower I have know from my infancy - their shapes and colours are as new to me as if I had just created them with superhuman fancy.