Quote

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.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Men
Bears
Life
Small
Less
Uttered
Others
Repeat
Part
Repeats
Much
Unknown
Always
Unconscious
Never
Proportion

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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.
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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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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?
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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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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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Severn - I - lift me up - I am dying - I shall die easy don't be frightened - be firm, and thank God it has come.
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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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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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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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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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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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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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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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