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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
Thou
Thee
Moon
Move
Moving
Heart
More quotes by John Keats
I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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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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My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.... I never felt my mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment- upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses
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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
John Keats
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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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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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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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination – What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not – for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty . . .
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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
O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
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You speak of Lord Byron and me there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.
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