William Wordsworth Quotes
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... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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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.
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There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.
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Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
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For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
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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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The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
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And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.
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Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
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Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
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The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
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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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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.
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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
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Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!