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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
Perhaps
Reading
Read
Understand
Depths
Reason
Shakespeare
Good
Thank
Content
Depth

More quotes by John Keats

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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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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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You are always new to me.
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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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Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
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O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,-- Nature's observatory--whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
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A long poem is a test of invention which I take to be the Polar star of poetry, as fancy is the sails, and imagination the rudder.
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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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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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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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