100 Timeless Quotes By John Keats That Will Touch Your Heart
English Romantic poet John Keats is counted amongst the main figures of the second generation of Romantic poets along with Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley. Even though Keats died at the young age of 25, it was not before he had created a significant amount of literary output that earned him acclaim for long after his death. Keats’ poetry is characterized by sensual imagery, as was common in Romantic poetry of his era. Even though not famous during his lifetime, his popularity catapulted to great heights in the years following his untimely death from tuberculosis. Highly prolific in life, he left behind some works which eventually made him one of the most beloved of all English poets. Even almost two centuries after his death, he remains a much studied and admired British poet. These poignant quotes by the John Keats are sure to tug at the strings of your heart!
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul? 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. Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know. A thing of beauty is a joy forever. I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination. Nothing ever becomes real 'til it is experienced. The poetry of the earth is never dead. I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on. Life is but a day:
A fragile dewdrop on its perilious way
From a tree's summit Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know I want a brighter word than bright I have good reason to be content,
for thank God I can read and
perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths. You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest. My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you. Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not I was never afraid of failure; for I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest. 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. We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author. My imagination is a monastery, and I am its monk There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music. Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss. I have so much of you in my heart. The excellence of every Art is its intensity. Two souls with but a single thought,
Two hearts that beat as one! My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it. Here lies one whose name was writ on water. I wish to believe in immortality-I wish to live with you forever. O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts! If poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree it had better not come at all. A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases;
It will never
Pass into nothingness. I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me. Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad… You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour... You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving. It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all. My chest of books divide amongst my friends-- Thou art a dreaming thing,
A fever of thyself. We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention. It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it. Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget... To Sorrow I bade good-morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly: She is so constant to me, and so kind. I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel. I never was in love - yet the voice and the shape of a woman has haunted me these two days. Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject. To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death. You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task. Was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep? And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed,
Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. Alas! when passion is both meek and wild! Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams
The summer time away. I must choose between despair and Energy──I choose the latter. Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories. Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest. Beauty is truth, truth beauty I will clamber through the clouds and exist. --then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. I have a habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am now leading a posthumous existence. Already with thee! tender is the night. . .
But here there is no light. . . Scenery is fine -but human nature is finer Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance". Love is my religion--I could die for it. I find I cannot exist without Poetry I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too. One of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate. Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes. 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. Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
---"On death And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes. I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen. I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!
How beautiful thou art! Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath; Tall oaks branch charmed by the earnest stars Dream and so dream all night without a stir. Knowledge enormous makes a god of me. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time / I have been half in love with easeful Death... ...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits. Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free? No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures
Than I began to think of rhymes and measures:
The air that floated by me seem'd to say
'Write! thou wilt never have a better day. When it is moving on luxurious wings,
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings. Real are the dreams of gods, and soothly pass their pleasures in a long immortal dream. I have had a thousand kisses, for which with my whole soul I thank love—but if you should deny me the thousand and first—‘t would put me to the proof how great a misery I could live through. Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain
Clings cruelly to us. But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the sky with silver glitterings! Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks
Our ready minds to fellowship divine,
A fellowship with essence; till we shine,
Full alchemiz’d, and free of space. Behold
The clear religion of heaven! Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity... When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain".
Life is divine Chaos. It's messy, and it's supposed to be that way.
Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.
... for, by all the stars
That tend thy bidding, I do think the bars
That kept my spirit in are burst - that I
Am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!
How beautiful thou art!
I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.
For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.
Time, that aged nurse, rocked me to patience. Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?