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What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Shock
Philosopher
Delight
Poet
Virtue
Shocks
Chameleon
Delights
Virtuous
More quotes by John Keats
No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
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She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around.
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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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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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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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You are always new to me.
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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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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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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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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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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
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My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.... I never felt my mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment- upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses
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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
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Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
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I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
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A poet is the most unpoetical of anything in existence because he has no identity he is continually informing and filling some other body.
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