Quote

If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Work
Memories
Made
Loved
Immortal
Make
Principles
Remembered
Things
Beauty
Principle
Would
Dies
Memory
Time
Friends
Behinds
Left
Behind
Nothing
Proud

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You are always new to me.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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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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Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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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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How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.
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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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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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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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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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No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.
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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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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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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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