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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
Atheism
Imagination
Literature
Monastery
Monasteries
Monk

More quotes by John Keats

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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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There is a budding tomorrow in midnight.
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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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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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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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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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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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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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Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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All writing is a form of prayer.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
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You speak of Lord Byron and me there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.
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That which is creative must create itself.
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As the Swiss inscription says: Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden,- Speech is silvern, Silence is golden or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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