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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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No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
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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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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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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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No one can usurp the heights... But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest.
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O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
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I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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Load every rift with ore.
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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
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The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.
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There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.
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I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
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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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Darkling I listen and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
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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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Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
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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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The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
John Keats