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The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Gathering
Twitter
Sky
Garden
Listening
Whistles
Swallows
Skies

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Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
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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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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
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My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.... I never felt my mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment- upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses
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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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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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Severn - I - lift me up - I am dying - I shall die easy don't be frightened - be firm, and thank God it has come.
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When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
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Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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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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I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.
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The air is all softness.
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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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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That which is creative must create itself.
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
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it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
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