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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Purpose
Ripening
Nothing
Finer
Great
Gradual
Purposes
Productions
Powers
Intellectual

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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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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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Load every rift with ore.
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...I leaped headlong into the Sea, and thereby have become more acquainted with the Soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable advice.
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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — 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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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.
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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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Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
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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 silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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Don't be discouraged by a failure. It can be a positive experience.
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She press'd his hand in slumber so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
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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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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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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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Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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