John Keats

Clever men are good, but they are not the best.

Dance and Provençal song and sunburnt mirth! Oh for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene! With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stainèd mouth.

The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.

Axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses: we read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.

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

The eye of the intellect "sees in all objects what it brought with it the means of seeing."

He ne'er is crown'd With immortality, who fears to follow Where airy voices lead.

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne, Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise, Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute, In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy."

The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate.