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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Receptive
Passive
Leaves
Flower
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More quotes by John Keats
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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Don't be discouraged by a failure. It can be a positive experience.
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You are always new to me.
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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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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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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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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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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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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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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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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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To bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty
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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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Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?
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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
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one of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another
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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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