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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Reality
Every
Pursuer
Ardour
Pursuit
Mental
Worth
Takes

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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
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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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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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As the Swiss inscription says: Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden,- Speech is silvern, Silence is golden or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.
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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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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.
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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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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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All writing is a form of prayer.
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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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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the mystery of his life, a life like the scriptures, figurative.
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Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal.
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Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
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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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I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
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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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O, sorrow! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
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