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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
Immortality
Voices
Immortal
Fears
Lead
Follow
Voice
Crowned
Fear
Airy
More quotes by John Keats
We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.
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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.
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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
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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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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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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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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they
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