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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Monastery
Monasteries
Monk
Atheism
Imagination
Literature

More quotes by John Keats

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All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells.
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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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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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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
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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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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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A drainless shower Of light is poesy: 'tis the supreme of power 'Tis might half slumbering on its own right arm.
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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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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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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
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The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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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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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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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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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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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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