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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Kiss
Leaves
Kissing
Rose
Grateful
Wind
Winds
Upon
Bees
Feed

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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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We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.
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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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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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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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I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute.
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Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.
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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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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory, and very few eyes can see the mystery of his life, a life like the scriptures, figurative.
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one of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another
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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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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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Works of genius are the first things in the world.
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I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
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Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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There is nothing stable in the world uproar's your only music.
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So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
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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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