I begin to get a little acquainted with my own strength and weakness. 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.
John Keats
In spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits.
I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
For to bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty.
Life is but a day:A fragile dewdrop on its perilious wayFrom a tree's summit
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' - that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Nor do we merely feel these essences for one short hour no, even as these trees that whisper round a temple become soon dear as the temples self, so does the moon, the passion posey, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light unto our souls and bound to us so fast, that wheather there be shine, or gloom o'er cast, They always must be with us, or we die.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
I am certain of nothing but... the truth of the Imagination.
Love is my religion - I could die for it.
With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases it will never pass into nothingness.
I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again - my Life seems to stop there - I see no further. You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving... I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion - I have shudder'd at it - I shudder no more - I could be martyr'd for my Religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that - I could die for you. My creed is Love and you are its only tenet - You have ravish'd me away by a Power I cannot resist.
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.
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
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 ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness.
Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.
Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity --it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
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