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Bartlett's Familiar Quotations

A Collection of Passages, Phrases, and Proverbs Traced to Their Sources in Ancient and Modern Literature


The following 39 quotes match your criteria:


Author: John Keats
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.
Endymion. Book i.

Author: John Keats
He ne’er is crown’d
With immortality, who fears to follow
Where airy voices lead.
Endymion. Book ii.

Author: John Keats
    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
Endymion. Book iv.

Author: John Keats
So many, and so many, and such glee.
Endymion. Book iv.

Author: John Keats
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust.
Lamia. Part ii.

Author: John Keats
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an angel’s wings.
Lamia. Part ii.

Author: John Keats
Music’s golden tongue
Flatter’d to tears this aged man and poor.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 3.

Author: John Keats
The silver snarling trumpets ’gan to chide.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 4.

Author: John Keats
Asleep in lap of legends old.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 15.

Author: John Keats
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
Flushing his brow.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 16.

Author: John Keats
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 18.

Author: John Keats
As though a rose should shut and be a bud again.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 27.

Author: John Keats
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 30.

Author: John Keats
He play’d an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call’d “La belle dame sans mercy.”
The Eve of St. Agnes. Stanza 33.

Author: John Keats
That large utterance of the early gods!
Hyperion. Book i.

Author: John Keats
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night without a stir.
Hyperion. Book i.

Author: John Keats
The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled.
Hyperion. Book ii.

Author: John Keats
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.
Ode to a Nightingale.

Author: John Keats
The self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
  The same that ofttimes hath
Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in fa
Ode to a Nightingale.

Author: John Keats
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.
Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Author: John Keats
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
  Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on,—
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
  Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Author: John Keats
Thou, silent form, doth tease us out of thought
  As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Author: John Keats
Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
  Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Author: John Keats
In a drear-nighted December,
  Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne’er remember
  Their green felicity.
Stanzas.

Author: John Keats
Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings?
Addressed to Haydon. Sonnet x.

Author: John Keats
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
 &
On first looking into Chapman’s Homer.

Author: John Keats
E’en like the passage of an angel’s tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.
To One who has been long in City pent.

Author: John Keats
The poetry of earth is never dead.
On the Grasshopper and Cricket.

Author: John Keats
Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind
Along the reedy stream; a half-heard strain,
Full of sweet desolation—balmy pain.
I stood tip-toe upon a little Hill.

Author: John Keats
There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.
Preface to Endymion.

Author: John Keats
Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too?
Ode to the fair Maid of the Inn.

Author: John Keats
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shine.
Ode on Melancholy. Stanza 3.

Author: John Keats
It keeps eternal whisperings around
  Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns.
Sonnet. On the Sea.

Author: John Keats
The sweet converse of an innocent mind.
Sonnet. To Solitude.

Author: John Keats
She no tear—O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more—O weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.
Faery Song 1.

Author: John Keats
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
    Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast.
Sonnet The Day is gone.

Author: John Keats
        Mortality
Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep.
Sonnet. On seeing the Elgin Marbles.

Author: John Keats
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
  Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
  Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike
Sonnet.

Author: John Keats
Here lies one whose name was writ in water.



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