Quote

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
Leisure
Mad
Deaden
Defense
Attainable
Imagination
Luxurious
May
Vulgarity
Self
Delicacy
Things
Riot
Obliged

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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
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Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu
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There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.
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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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And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.
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A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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I don't need the stars in the night I found my treasure All I need is you by my side so shine forever
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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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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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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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As the Swiss inscription says: Sprechen ist silbern, Schweigen ist golden,- Speech is silvern, Silence is golden or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.
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You are always new to me.
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The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
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The opinion I have of the generality of women--who appear to me as children to whom I would rather give a sugar plum than my time, forms a barrier against matrimony which I rejoice in.
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Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor.
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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
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