My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
JOHN KEATSHow does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they.
More John Keats Quotes
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I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
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You are always new to me.
JOHN KEATS -
Love is my religion – I could die for it.
JOHN KEATS -
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
JOHN KEATS -
If poetry does not come as naturally as leaves to a tree, then it better not come at all.
JOHN KEATS -
I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
JOHN KEATS -
Health is the greatest of blessings – with health and hope we should be content to live.
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The open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown – the Air is our robe of state – the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
JOHN KEATS -
I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days – three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.
JOHN KEATS -
All writing is a form of prayer.
JOHN KEATS -
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity.
JOHN KEATS -
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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That queen of secrecy, the violet.
JOHN KEATS -
You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.
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Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.
JOHN KEATS -
That which is creative must create itself.
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What is there in thee, Moon! That thou should’st move My heart so potently?
JOHN KEATS -
Every fresh experience points out some form of error which we shall afterwards carefully avoid.
JOHN KEATS -
I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
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The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
JOHN KEATS -
Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.
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You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour.
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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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The air is all softness.
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The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.
JOHN KEATS