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What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move My heart so potently?

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Thee
Moon
Move
Moving
Heart
Thou

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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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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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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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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
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Load every rift with ore.
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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells.
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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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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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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My friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my Tomb.
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I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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All writing is a form of prayer.
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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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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
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