Quotes from John Keats

The imagination may be compared to adams dream. He awoke and found it truth.

How sad is it when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things which are not.

There is an old saying well begun is half done - 'tis a bad one. I would use instead, Not begun at all till half done; so according to that I have not begun my Poem and consequently (a priori) can say nothing about it.

If I am destined to be happy with you here -- how short is the longest Life.

How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more Beautiful than Beauty's self.

A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no identity-he is continually infirming and filling some other body.

The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.

My spirit is too weak--mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagin'd pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky.

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 two divinest things the world has got— A lovely woman and a rural spot.

In Endymion I leaped headlong into the sea, and thereby have become better acquainted with the soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable advice.

But what, without the social thought of thee, Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird!

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 sit, and moan, Like one who once had wings.

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

With duller steel than the Perséan sword They cut away no formless monster's head, But one, whose gentleness did well accord With death, as life. The ancient harps have said, Love never dies, but lives, immortal Lord: If Love impersonate was ever dead, Pale Isabella kiss'd it, and low moan'd. 'Twas love; cold,--dead indeed, but not dethroned.

I could centre my Happiness in you, I cannot expect to engross your heart so entirely -- indeed if I thought you felt as much for me as I do for you at this moment I do not think I could restrain myself from seeing you again tomorrow for the delight of one embrace. But no -- I must live upon hope and Chance. In case of the worst that can happen, I shall still love you -- but what hatred shall I have for another!

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs

I burn'd And ached for wings

Give me women, wine, and snuff Until I cry out 'hold, enough!' You may do so sans objection Till the day of resurrection; For bless my beard thy aye shall be My beloved Trinity.

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

tis very sweet to look into the fair and open face of heaven, - to breathe a prayer full in the smile of the blue firmament.

That men, who might have tower'd in the van Of all the congregated world, to fan And winnow from the coming step of time All chaff of custom, wipe away all slime Left by men-slugs and human serpentry, Have been content to let occasion die, Whilst they did sleep in love's Elysium.