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The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Deadly
Solitude
Thought

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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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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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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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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
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Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?
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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 is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
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