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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

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Lose
Loses
Better
Love
Ego

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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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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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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells.
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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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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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'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?
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Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
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...I leaped headlong into the Sea, and thereby have become more acquainted with the Soundings, the quicksands, and the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea and comfortable advice.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
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The genius of Shakespeare was an innate university.
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Shed no tear - O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more - O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
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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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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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