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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Pride
Tremble
Came
Fickle
Pleasure
Earthly
Feel
Imagined
Feels
Kiss
Good
Fancy
Kissing
Warm
Devout
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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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.
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Stop and consider! life is but a day
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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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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was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?
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Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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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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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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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
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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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You are always new to me.
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O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,-- Nature's observatory--whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
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My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
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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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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.
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