Quote

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.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Common
Injury
Given
Depression
Things
Dull
Woof
Awful
Catalogue
Wings
Catalogues
Angel
Clip
Philosophy
Texture
Heaven
Rainbow

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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
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We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.
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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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... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
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...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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Then felt I like some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken.
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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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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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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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