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I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Depth
Perhaps
Reading
Read
Understand
Depths
Reason
Shakespeare
Good
Thank
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More quotes by John Keats

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it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
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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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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
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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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Shed no tear - O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more - O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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I myself am pursuing the same instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can think of I am, however young, writing at random straining at particles of light in the midst of a great darkness without knowing the bearing of any one assertion, of any one opinion. Yet may I not in this be free from sin?
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I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?
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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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Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
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