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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Whether
Art
Truth
Must
Seizes
Existed
Imagination
Beauty
Whatever

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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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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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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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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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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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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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Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches little space they stop But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
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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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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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