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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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All writing is a form of prayer.
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
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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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Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines.
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Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty
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The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.
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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.
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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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Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
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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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It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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She press'd his hand in slumber so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
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What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move My heart so potently?
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I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
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I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.
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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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Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
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