Quotes from John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high piled books, in charact'ry, Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain … When I Have Fears that I May Cease to Be

But even now I am perhaps not speaking from myself, but from some Character in whose soul I now live. I am sure however that this next sentence is from myself—I feel your anxiety, good opinion, and friendship, in the highest degree, and am Yours most sincerely John Keats.

Just like that bird am I in loss of time, Whene'er I venture on the stream of rhyme; With shatter'd boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent, I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent; Still scooping up the water with my fingers, In which a trembling diamond never lingers.

Better to lose your ego to the one you love, than to lose your love because of your ego

Fanatikler rüyalar?nda kendi mezheplerinden olanlara cennet kap?lar?n? açar.

How astonishingly does the chance of leaving the world impress a sense of its natural beauties on us … I muse with the greatest affection on every flower I have known from my infancy.

Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul? A place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways!

the further idea that to fit it for such tasks two things above all are necessary, growth in human sympathy through the putting down of self, and growth in knowledge and wisdom through strenuous study and meditation

But, for the general award of love, The little sweet doth kill much bitterness;

Fanatics have their dreams wherewith they weave A paradise for a sect. The savage too From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep Guesses at heaven.

There is a comfort in throwing oneself on the charity of ones friends — 't is like the albatross sleeping on its wings.

Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face. Art thou, too, near such doom? vague

There's a blush for won't, and a blush for shan't, And a blush for having done it: There's a blush for thought and a blush for naught, And a blush for just begun it.

My heart aches, a drowsy numbness pains as if of hemlock I had drunk.

How long is this posthumous life of mine to last?

Impossible is for the unwilling

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, and all the thousand bitters which those men I speak of must necessarily taste in going over the following pages.

Where are you now? How are the nymphs? I suppose they have led you a fine dance.

The stars look very cold about the sky, and I have many miles on foot to fare.

A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity--he is continually in for--and filling some other Body--The Sun, the Moon, the Sea and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute--the poet has none; no identity--he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God's Creatures. If then he has no self, and if I am a Poet, where is the Wonder that I should say I would write no more?

miserable—We can see horribly clear, in the works of such a Man his whole life, as if we were God's spies.—What

O soft embalmer of the still midnight

A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity -- he is continually in for -- and filling some other Body -- The Sun, the Moon, the Sea, and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute -- the poet has none; no identity -- he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God's creatures.

De nada tengo certeza sino de la santidad de los afectos del corazón y de la verdad de la imaginación.