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Blessed is the healthy nature it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Sweetly
Distracting
Coherent
Destructive
Blessed
Healthy
Nature
Incoherent
Self
Operative

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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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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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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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That which is creative must create itself.
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It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
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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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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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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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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
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The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
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...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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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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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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