Quote

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.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Force
Spoil
Flaws
Forces
Nightingale
Sky
Spoils
Summer
Nightingales
Singing
Flaw
Beyond
Skies
Happiness
Mourn

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Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
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Its better to lose your ego to the One you Love than to lose the One you Love to your Ego
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
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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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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, β€” to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
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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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Why employ intelligent and highly paid ambassadors and then go and do their work for them? You don't buy a canary and sing yourself.
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The air is all softness.
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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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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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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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What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move My heart so potently?
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me β€” nothing to make my friends proud of my memory β€” but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.
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O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,-- Nature's observatory--whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
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