William Wordsworth Quotes
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.
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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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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
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I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
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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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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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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
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Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
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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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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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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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The unconquerable pang of despised love.
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A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
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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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Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind; And worse, against ourselves.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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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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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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We murder to dissect.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.