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She press’d his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.

John Keats

The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.
JOHN KEATS

Feeling Healing
Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success.
JOHN KEATS

Failure Inspirational Motivational Perspective Success
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.
JOHN KEATS

Creation Dreams Life Suffering Wake Up
We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.
JOHN KEATS

Feeling Full Poet Reading Writing
Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?
JOHN KEATS

Bright Listening Moon Night Stars Talk Time
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
JOHN KEATS

Experience Reality
Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
JOHN KEATS

Mental Pursue Pursuit Reality Worth
There is nothing stable in the world; uproar’s your only music.
JOHN KEATS

Music Stability World Yourself
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

Focus Happiness Invention Myself Taste Yourself
The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.
JOHN KEATS

Bright Creature Eyes Purpose
You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.
JOHN KEATS

Kiss Romance Yourself
If poetry does not come as naturally as leaves to a tree, then it better not come at all.
JOHN KEATS

Leaving Natural Poetry Tree
I will clamber through the clouds and exist.
JOHN KEATS

Cloud Existence Fantasy Forever Myself
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity.
JOHN KEATS

Forever Silence Thinking
You are always new to me.
JOHN KEATS

Love Relationship Yourself
Souls of poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host’s Canary wine?
JOHN KEATS

Choice Death Drink Happiness Poet Soul Wine

She press’d his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.

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She press’d his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.

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Popular Authors

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