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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.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Defense
Attainable
Imagination
Luxurious
May
Vulgarity
Self
Delicacy
Things
Riot
Obliged
Leisure
Mad
Deaden

More quotes by John Keats

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The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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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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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.
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... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
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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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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
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My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.
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I would jump down Etna for any public good - but I hate a mawkish popularity.
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Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
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It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.
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I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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Darkling I listen and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Called him soft names in many a muse' d rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!
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