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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
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Physician
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More quotes by John Keats

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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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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
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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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Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.
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Why employ intelligent and highly paid ambassadors and then go and do their work for them? You don't buy a canary and sing yourself.
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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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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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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.
John Keats
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
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O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips and downward look O let me for one moment touch her wrist Let me one moment to her breathing list And as she leaves me, may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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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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O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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Shed no tear - O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more - O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
John Keats
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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
John Keats