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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Every
Intensity
Excellence
Art

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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
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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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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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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.
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The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.
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Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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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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Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
John Keats