Quotes by John Keats

“Darkling I listen; and, for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Call'd him soft names in many a musd rhyme,To take into the air my quiet breath.”

“The world is too brutal for meI am glad there is such a thing as the graveI am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.”

“There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at ...”

“O that our dreamings all, of sleep or wake, Would all their colours from the sunset take.”

“The poetry of the earth is never dead.”

“Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheardAre sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on.”

“Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not”

“To SorrowI bade good morrow,And thought to leave her far away behind;But cheerly, cheerly,She loves me dearly;She is so constant to me, and so kind.”

“You are always new. THe last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest. When you pass'd my window home yesterday, I was fill'd with as m...”

“If poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree it had better not come at all.”

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;Conspiring with him how to load and blessWith fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;To bend with apples the m...”

“I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.”

“I do think the barsThat kept my spirit in are burst - that IAm sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!How beautiful thou art!”

“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.”

“Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.”

“Open wide the mind's cage-door,She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.”

“I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving.”

“Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art--Not in lone splendour hung aloft the nightAnd watching, with eternal lids apart,Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite.”

“No one can usurp the heights...But those to whom the miseries of the worldAre misery, and will not let them rest.”

“Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thoughtAs doth eternity...”