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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
Good
Thank
Content
Depth
Perhaps
Reading
Read
Understand
Depths
Reason
Shakespeare

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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a rainbow.
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I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
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There is a budding tomorrow in midnight.
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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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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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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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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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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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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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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
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