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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Immortal
Fears
Lead
Follow
Voice
Crowned
Fear
Airy
Immortality
Voices

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The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look O let me for one moment touch her wrist Let me one moment to her breathing list And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
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We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
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When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain.
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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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Then felt I like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken.
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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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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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