Quote

Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Makes
Effect
Men
Blame
Momentary
Love
Criticism
Critic
Praise
Severe
Whose
Fierce
Effects
Programming
Works
Abstract
Beauty
Critics

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An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.
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I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave--thank God for the quiet grave--O! I can feel the cold earth upon me--the daisies growing over me--O for this quiet--it will be my first.
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Shed no tear - O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more - O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Stop and consider! life is but a day
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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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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 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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I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep?
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
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Its better to lose your ego to the One you Love than to lose the One you Love to your Ego
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,-- Nature's observatory--whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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