John Keats Quotes

Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain Clings cruelly to us.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty.

But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.

I have an habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am leading a posthumous existence.

Stop and consider! life is but a day

Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.