William Wordsworth Quotes
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The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.
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How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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Nature's old felicities.
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A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
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When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
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. . .this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 't is her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.
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Death is the quiet haven of us all.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
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The wealthiest man among us is the best
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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one daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures, then one is too few.
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Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon! There's joy in the mountains: There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone.
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A brotherhood of venerable trees.
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Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.
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Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.
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Rest and be thankful.
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The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.