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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Enormous
Knowledge
Makes

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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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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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A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no identity he is continually informing and filling some other body.
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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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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
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Why employ intelligent and highly paid ambassadors and then go and do their work for them? You don't buy a canary and sing yourself.
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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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A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the mystery of his life, a life like the scriptures, figurative.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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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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There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
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Darkling I listen and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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