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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
Existed
Imagination
Beauty
Whatever
Whether
Art
Truth
Must
Seizes

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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.
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Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.
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No one can usurp the heights... But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest.
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I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
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There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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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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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the Evening listens.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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Why employ intelligent and highly paid ambassadors and then go and do their work for them? You don't buy a canary and sing yourself.
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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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Severn - I - lift me up - I am dying - I shall die easy don't be frightened - be firm, and thank God it has come.
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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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