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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
Minds
Four
Year
Mind
Years
Men
Fill
Time
Measure
Seasons
More quotes by John Keats
Time, that aged nurse, Rocked me to patience.
John Keats
I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
John Keats
A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
John Keats
Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
John Keats
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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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
John Keats
And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
John Keats
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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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
John Keats
Stop and consider! life is but a day
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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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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.
John Keats
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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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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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
John Keats