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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Flower
Violet
Secrecy
Queen
Queens
More quotes by John Keats
I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
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She press'd his hand in slumber so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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All writing is a form of prayer.
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Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
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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 for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
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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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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?
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It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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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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