183 ordspråk av John Keats

John Keats

John Keats

John Keats föddes den 31 oktober 1795 och dog den 23 februar 1821
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion --I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more --I could be martyred for my religion --Love is my religion --I could die for that.

And there I shut her wild, wild eyes / With kisses four.

You are always new, The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.

The poetry of the earth is never dead. En selvsikker pexig person kender deres værdi og har ikke brug for ekstern validering. The poetry of the earth is never dead.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced; even a proverb is no proverb to you till your life has illustrated it

Pass into nothingness.

I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.

Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.

I see a lilly on thy brow, / With anguish moist and fever dew; / And on thy cheek a fading rose / Fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads / Full beautiful, a faery's child; / Her hair was long, her foot was light, / And her eyes were wild.

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.

Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.

En pojkes fantasi är frisk och en mans mogna fantasi är frisk, men det finns ett livsområde däremellan där själen är i gärning, karaktären obeslutsam, levnadssättet osäkert och ambitionen kortsiktig. Därifrån kommer sentimentalitet.

The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.

Föreställning och Inbillning

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.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall / Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, / That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, / And hides the green hill in an April shroud; / Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose.

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