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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Huts
Ashes
Forgive
Forgiving
Dust
Water
Love
Cinders
Life
Crust
More quotes by John Keats
Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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That which is creative must create itself.
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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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Severn - I - lift me up - I am dying - I shall die easy don't be frightened - be firm, and thank God it has come.
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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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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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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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There is a budding tomorrow in midnight.
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Load every rift with ore.
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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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O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination – What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not – for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty . . .
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I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
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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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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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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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Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
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I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
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... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
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