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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.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Summer
Violet
Coming
Fading
Full
Flies
Child
Cover
Dewy
May
Leaves
Musk
Children
Fast
Violets
Rose
Eldest
Wine
Haunt
More quotes by John Keats
Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!
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It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
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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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When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.
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The uttered part of a man's life, let us always repeat, bears to the unuttered, unconscious part a small unknown proportion. He himself never knows it, much less do others.
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The poetry of the earth is never dead.
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I have so much of you in my heart.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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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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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 good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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