Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.
JOHN KEATSI have an habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am leading a posthumous existence.
More John Keats Quotes
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Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.
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Many have original minds who do not think it – they are led away by custom!
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My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
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If something is not beautiful, it is probably not true.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.
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There is a budding tomorrow in midnight.
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A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
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Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
JOHN KEATS -
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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There is an old saying “well begun is half done”-’tis a bad one. I would use instead-Not begun at all ’til half done.
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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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What is more gentle than a wind is summer?
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Scenery is fine – but human nature is finer.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
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O aching time! O moments big as years!
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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.
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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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Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.
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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.
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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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But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.
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Beauty is truth, truth beauty.
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And how they kist each other’s tremulous eyes.
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Now a soft kiss – Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.
JOHN KEATS