William Wordsworth Quotes
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
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Rest and be thankful.
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Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
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I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet.
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The child shall become father to the man.
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Let Nature be your teacher
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Death is the quiet haven of us all.
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How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
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Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.
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A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
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Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
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In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.
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When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
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There is creation in the eye.