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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.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Children
Wind
Pane
Things
Minutes
Roaring
Wife
Domestic
Beauty
Mighty
Stars
Divided
Happiness
Abstract
Idea
Minute
Ideas
Window
Stifles
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O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the Evening listens.
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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a 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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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.
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Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines.
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To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.
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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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The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.
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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
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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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Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
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Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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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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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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