William Wordsworth Quotes
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A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
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Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.
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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind; And worse, against ourselves.
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The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.
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I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
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Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
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We murder to dissect.
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There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
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But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
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Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The Old, by thee revived, have said, 'Another year is ours;' And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed, Have smiled upon thy flowers.
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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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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?
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To be young was very heaven!
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How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.