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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
Takes
Extensive
Knowledge
Fever
Helping
Speculation
Away
Heat
Thinking
Ease
People
Helps
Burden
Needful
Mystery
Widening
More quotes by John Keats
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
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A drainless shower Of light is poesy: 'tis the supreme of power 'Tis might half slumbering on its own right arm.
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Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them thou has thy music too.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
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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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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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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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It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
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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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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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The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.
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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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I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
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The excellence of every Art is its intensity.
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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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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide.
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Parting they seemed to tread upon the air, Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close.
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