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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
Literature
Monastery
Monasteries
Monk
Atheism
Imagination

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Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
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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.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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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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We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.
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I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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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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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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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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