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All writing is a form of prayer.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Writing
Prayer
Form

More quotes by John Keats

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No, no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
John Keats
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The Public - a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.
John Keats
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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.
John Keats
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When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.
John Keats
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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.
John Keats
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
John Keats
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
John Keats
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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
John Keats
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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.
John Keats
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Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
John Keats
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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.
John Keats
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.
John Keats
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The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
John Keats
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
John Keats
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Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
John Keats
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
John Keats
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To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
John Keats
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It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores
John Keats
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In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.
John Keats
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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.
John Keats