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Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green there is a budding morrow in midnight there is triple sight in blindness keen.
John Keats
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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Darkness
Shores
Show
Keen
Shows
Morrow
Light
Blindness
Precipices
Midnight
Untrodden
Shore
Budding
Sight
Triple
Green
Precipice
More quotes by John Keats
Four seasons fill the measure of the year there are four seasons in the minds of men.
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He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
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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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Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.
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Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
John Keats
Dry your eyes O dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies.
John Keats
Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine - how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry.
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Let us away, my love, with happy speed There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
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We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.
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Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
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No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
John Keats
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.
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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
All writing is a form of prayer.
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We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
John Keats