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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
Productions
Powers
Intellectual
Purpose
Nothing
Ripening
Great
Finer
Gradual
Purposes

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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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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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Load every rift with ore.
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Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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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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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.
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There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.
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A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the mystery of his life, a life like the scriptures, figurative.
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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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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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I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
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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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How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.
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