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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
Imagination
Literature
Monastery
Monasteries
Monk
Atheism

More quotes by John Keats

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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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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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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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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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Call the world if you please the vale of soul-making. Then you will find out the use of the world.
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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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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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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
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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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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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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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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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