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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.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Rest
World
Usurp
Miseries
Heights
Height
Misery
More quotes by John Keats
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
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How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
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Don't be discouraged by a failure. It can be a positive experience.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.
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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest the last smile the brightest the last movement the gracefullest.
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I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave--thank God for the quiet grave--O! I can feel the cold earth upon me--the daisies growing over me--O for this quiet--it will be my first.
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... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.
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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.
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I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.
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Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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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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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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