For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.- John Keats

For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.- John Keats

Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.- John Keats

Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song.- John Keats

I have nothing to speak of but my self-and what can I say but what I feel.- John Keats

I have nothing to speak of but my self-and what can I say but what I feel.- John Keats

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.- John Keats

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.- John Keats

A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.- John Keats

A moment’s thought is passion’s passing knell.- John Keats

Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.- John Keats

Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.- John Keats

How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.- John Keats

How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty’s self.- John Keats

Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.- John Keats

Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.- John Keats

My chest of books divide amongst my friends.- John Keats

My chest of books divide amongst my friends.- John Keats

When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings.- John Keats

When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings.- John Keats

The poppies hung Dew-dabbled on their stalks.- John Keats

The poppies hung Dew-dabbled on their stalks.- John Keats

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?- John Keats

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?- John Keats