John Keats Quotes (222 Quotes)

Long in misery
I wasted, ere in one extremest fit
I plung'd for life or death.

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat gray-haired Saturn, quiet as a stone.

Where's the face One would meet in every place Where's the voice, however soft, One would hear so very oft

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.

Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine

Upon the honeyed middle of the night.

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan.

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

O magic sleep O comfortable bird, That broodest oer the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hushd and smooth.

There was an awful rainbow once in heaven We know her woof, her texture she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.

With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.

The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.

I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.

Ever let thy Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home

Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather and a little music out of doors, played by someone I do not know. I admire lolling on a lawn by a water-lilied pond to eat white currants and see goldfish and go to the fair in the evening if I'm good. There is not hope for that --one is sure to get into some mess before evening.

Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.

My sweetest Indian, here,
Here will I kneel, for thou redeemed hast
My life from too thin breathing: gone and past
Are cloudy phantasms.

He from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd With jellies soother thank the creamy curd, And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon Mama and dates, in argosy transferrd From Fez and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedard Lebanon.

Health is my expected heaven.

So the two brothers and their murdered man Rode past fair Florence.

Yet it is strange, and sad, alas!

Already with thee tender is the night.

I wish to beleave in immortality-I wish to live with you forever.

Once upon a time, the American met the Automobile and fell in love. Unfortunately, this led him into matrimony, and so he did not live happily ever after.

Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.

O aching time O moments big as years.

Thy life is but two dead eternities,
The last in air, the former in the deep!

Keep me free,
From torturing jealousy.

Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.

I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again - my Life seems to stop there - I see no further. You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving... I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion - I have shudder'd at it - I shudder no more - I could be martyr'd for my Religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that - I could die for you. My creed is Love and you are its only tenet - You have ravish'd me away by a Power I cannot resist.

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf 's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine.

I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion - I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more - I could be martyred for my religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that.

A solitary sorrow best befits Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.

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.

Verse, Fame and Beauty are intense indeed, But Death intenser - Death is Life's high meed.

Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.

Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!

Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.

O for ten years, that I may overwhelm Myself in poesy so I may do the deed That my own soul has to itself decreed.

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.

It's very difficult to convince anyone of reckless driving when the bus wasn't moving.

They shall be accounted poet kings Who simply tell the most heart-easing things.

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.

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.

How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they.

For what has made the sage or poet write But the fair paradise of Nature's light.

Asleep in lap of legends old.

Although so vast
My love is still for thee.

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.

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.