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So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Dark
Shed
Hope
Silver
Spirit
Round
Rounds
Pinions
Sweet
Shroud
Thoughts
Shrouds
Influence
Waving
Head
Celestial
More quotes by John Keats
Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
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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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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.
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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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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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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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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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells.
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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep?
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.
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