Born in October 31, 1795 / Died in February 23, 1821 / United Kingdom / English
I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.
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.
I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.
Though a quarrel in the streets is a thing to be hated, the energies displayed in it are fine; the commonest man shows a grace in his quarrel.
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.
You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.
My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
I equally dislike the favor of the public with the love of a woman - they are both a cloying treacle to the wings of independence.
O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the Evening listens.
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' - that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
She press'd his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Land and sea, weakness and decline are great separators, but death is the great divorcer for ever.
When I have fears that I may cease to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain.
Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds along the pebbled shore of memory!
There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music.
O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings.
Love is my religion - I could die for it.
Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
The poetry of the earth is never dead.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.
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.
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