Quotes from John Keats

My chest of books divide amongst my friends--

Touch has a memory. O say, love, say, What can I do to kill it and be free?

Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it

It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.

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. - To Sorrow

I never knew before, what such a love as you have made me feel, was; I did not believe in it; my Fancy was afraid of it, lest it should burn me up. But if you will fully love me, though there may be some fire, 'twill not be more than we can bear when moistened and bedewed with Pleasures.

The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget...

It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores

And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.

I will clamber through the clouds and exist.

I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.

I never was in love - yet the voice and the shape of a woman has haunted me these two days.

To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.

This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood, So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calm'd. See, here it is-- I hold it towards you.

If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.

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.

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.

was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?

Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.

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

I must choose between despair and Energy??I choose the latter.

Then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty