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O aching time! O moments big as years!

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Aching
Bigs
Moments
Years
Time

More quotes by John Keats

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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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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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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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Its better to lose your ego to the One you Love than to lose the One you Love to your Ego
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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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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
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You speak of Lord Byron and me there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.
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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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To stay youthful, stay useful.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
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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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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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There is a budding tomorrow in midnight.
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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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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
John Keats
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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
John Keats
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
John Keats