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The air is all softness.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Softness
Air

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My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
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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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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.... I never felt my mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment- upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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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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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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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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Call the world if you please the vale of soul-making. Then you will find out the use of the world.
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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
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No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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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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Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
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