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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Things
Principle
Gratitude
Loved
Principles
Beauty

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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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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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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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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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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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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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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 Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.
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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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... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
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Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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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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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.
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