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As the Swiss inscription says: Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden,- Speech is silvern, Silence is golden or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Rather
Inscriptions
Might
Swiss
Time
Golden
Express
Eternity
Speech
Silence
Says
Inscription
More quotes by John Keats
And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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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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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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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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Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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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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So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
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Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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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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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.
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Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?
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