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.
John KeatsNor 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.
John KeatsThe roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.
John Keats