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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Four
Year
Mind
Years
Men
Fill
Time
Measure
Seasons
Minds

More quotes by John Keats

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Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
John Keats
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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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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
John Keats
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
John Keats
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
John Keats
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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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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Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
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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.
John Keats
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O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
John Keats
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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That which is creative must create itself.
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No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.
John Keats
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Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches little space they stop But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
John Keats