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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Inspirational
Truth
Affections
Certain
Holiness
Nothing
Certainty
Heart
Affection
Imagination
Belief
Lying

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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
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A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the mystery of his life, a life like the scriptures, figurative.
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And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
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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.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a rainbow.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
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I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
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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.
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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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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.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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