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You speak of Lord Byron and me there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Mines
Mine
Byron
Difference
Describes
Differences
Describe
Imagine
Task
Lord
Sees
Speak
Hardest
Great
Tasks
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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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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.
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?
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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination – What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not – for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty . . .
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Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no identity he is continually informing and filling some other body.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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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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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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