Quote

An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
People
Helps
Burden
Needful
Mystery
Widening
Takes
Extensive
Knowledge
Fever
Helping
Speculation
Away
Heat
Thinking
Ease

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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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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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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.
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Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
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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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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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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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What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should'st move My heart so potently?
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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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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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The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.
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And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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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 have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.
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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time.
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There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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You speak of Lord Byron and me there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.
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