Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
JOHN KEATSA thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.
More John Keats Quotes
-
-
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.
JOHN KEATS -
Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
JOHN KEATS -
Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it.
JOHN KEATS -
Touch has a memory. O say, love say, What can I do to kill it and be free In my old liberty?
JOHN KEATS -
As the Swiss inscription says: “Speech is silvern, Silence is golden;” or, as I might rather express it, Speech is of Time, Silence is of Eternity.
JOHN KEATS -
I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.
JOHN KEATS -
There is nothing stable in the world; uproar’s your only music.
JOHN KEATS -
You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.
JOHN KEATS -
Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
JOHN KEATS -
The excellence of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with beauty and truth.
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!
JOHN KEATS -
Of love, that fairest joys give most unrest.
JOHN KEATS -
Now a soft kiss – Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
JOHN KEATS -
What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the chameleon poet.
JOHN KEATS -
An extensive knowledge is needful to thinking people-it takes away the heat and fever; and helps, by widening speculation, to ease the burden of the mystery.
JOHN KEATS






