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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
World
Fit
Fine
Taken
Point
Experience
Become
Soul
Men

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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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--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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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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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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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
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A long poem is a test of invention which I take to be the Polar star of poetry, as fancy is the sails, and imagination the rudder.
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
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No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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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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Shed no tear - O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more - O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
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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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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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We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
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Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine?
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