John Keats Quotes

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!

In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.

The uttered part of a man's life, let us always repeat, bears to the unuttered, unconscious part a small unknown proportion. He himself never knows it, much less do others.

Load every rift with ore.

Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.

Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines.

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

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.

Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity.

There is an old saying "well begun is half done"-'tis a bad one. I would use instead-Not begun at all 'til half done.

Where soil is, men grow, Whether to weeds or flowers.

Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.

Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks Our ready minds to fellowship divine, A fellowship with essence; till we shine, Full alchemiz’d, and free of space. Behold The clear religion of heaven!

What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.

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

I find that I can have no enjoyment in the world but the continual drinking of knowledge. I find there is no worthy pursuit but the idea of doing some good for the world.

The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.

A quote about drinking is a joy forever

Wine is only sweet to happy men.

And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.

I have nothing to speak of but my self-and what can I say but what I feel.

I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.

You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour.

I will clamber through the clouds and exist.

The excellence of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with beauty and truth.

I have an habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am leading a posthumous existence.

Of love, that fairest joys give most unrest.

What is more gentle than a wind is summer?

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold.

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.

My chest of books divide amongst my friends.

There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.

Conversation is not a search after knowledge, but an endeavor at effect.

The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.

I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.

Literary men are . . . a perpetual priesthood.

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death

Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.

I think I shall be among the English Poets after my death.

The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.

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

A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.

I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.

Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.

When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings.

Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.

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

So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.

It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.