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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.

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
Flatter
Aged
Golden
Tongue
Tears
Poor
Music

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Load every rift with ore.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.
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The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.
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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 have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
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Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a rainbow.
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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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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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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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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep?
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
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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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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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I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
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