William Wordsworth Quotes
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trails its wreath; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure; But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can That there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
Quotes to Explore
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Now I'm back home, living in London, running my theater. I just want to enjoy all that.
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No matter how much money I make, no matter how many hit songs. I still perform like a street performer.
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Joy is the simplest form of gratitude.
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So I think that our foreign policy, the president's strong and principled leadership when it comes to the war against terror and foreign policy is going to be an asset.
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Music will always be my greatest passion.
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There is no problem that is not improved by effort, and no effort that is too paltry to be worth undertaking.
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The best time to release a film is on a festive date like Divali or Eid, or at a time when there are no big films three to four weeks before or after.
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He who improves an opportunity sows a seed which will yield fruit in opportunity for himself and others.
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I've always said that I benefit, as an actor, from not having the illusion of security.
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I like to escape; I like to write when I go on a walk - I'm kind of very fairy that way. I get inspired by the wind. Or when I daydream, that's when I write.
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I think it's the responsibility of a major opera house not only to cultivate debate and get people thinking, but also to be interfaced with things that challenge them. To challenge its audience and not just deliver things that they know, even though some of those things are wonderful.
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When you expect things to happen - strangely enough - they do happen.
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Truth never pleads or compromises or wavers. It invites and awaits your acceptance.
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In general, I tend to laugh too much. I always try to tell myself not to, but I think that's just part of getting through the job. It's not rocket science. I want to have a good time!
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My life has become a reality show. When I am home, people are climbing trees with cameras. I feel that my personal space is being encroached upon. I will try and protect it as much as I can.
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I would never say somebody had to vote for anybody. That would be terrible. I haven't said that.
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The ultimate mystery is one's own self.
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When you're young, you're always concerned about how you're being seen and how you're being criticized.
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Growth doesn't hurt. This is what I've learned. In the end, it doesn't hurt. It hurts while it's happening. But in the end, you know, for life, for parenting, and for the arts, it's not a bad - not a bad thing to try for.
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It is in fact agreed that I am the plague, the cholera of the benevolent and generous men who are interested in art and that, when I show myself with my plasters, even the Emperor of the Sahara would flee.
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The fact is, the Time Traveller was one of those men who are too clever to be believed: you never felt that you saw all round him; you always suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity in ambush, behind his lucid frankness.
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That was the turning point. It was as though the signal was there, 'This is the disease you're going to have to work against.' I never really stopped to think about anything else. It was that sudden.
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Everything you have is on loan. Foolish is the one who gets attached to a loan.
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Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trails its wreath; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure; But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can That there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?
