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To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Long
Prayer
Breathe
Men
Open
Fair
Face
Smile
Heaven
Blue
Faces
City
Pent
Nature
Sweet
Firmament
Look
Cities
Breathing
Looks
Full
Fairs
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That which is creative must create itself.
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Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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I myself am pursuing the same instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can think of I am, however young, writing at random straining at particles of light in the midst of a great darkness without knowing the bearing of any one assertion, of any one opinion. Yet may I not in this be free from sin?
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Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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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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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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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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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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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
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We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike 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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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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