William wordsworth quotes

While all the future, for thy purer soul, With "sober certainties" of love is blest.

Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.

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.

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.

A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light

And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.

Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.

Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.

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 ever prevail against us.

The memory of the just survives in Heaven.

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

Love betters what is best

Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.

Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.

Thought and theory must precede all action, that moves to salutary purposes. Yet action is nobler in itself than either thought or theory.

Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.

Far from the world I walk, and from all care.

That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.

... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.

A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.

Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.

The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow

Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.

Oh there is blessing in this gentle breeze, A visitant that while it fans my cheek Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings From the green fields, and from yon azure sky. Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come To none more grateful than to me; escaped From the vast city, where I long had pined A discontented sojourner: now free, Free as a bird to settle where I will.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.

Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.

As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.

Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.

The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled; And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!

How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.

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.

One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.

The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.

For all things are less dreadful than they seem.

The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.

Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.

Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration: - feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.

Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science

Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.

A tale in everything.

We live by admiration, hope and love.

From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.

Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

All that we behold is full of blessings.

There is creation in the eye.

This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; Close up these barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.

I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.

Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.

Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.

A brotherhood of venerable trees.

A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love; And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.

Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.

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.

And I am happy when I sing.

She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.

Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.

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.

What is a Poet? He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them.

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?

May books and nature be their early joy!

Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.

Let Nature be your teacher

Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.

The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul listened intensely; for from within were heard Murmurings whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea. Even such a shell the universe itself Is to the ear of faith; and there are times, I doubt not, when to you it doth impart Authentic tidings of invisible things, Of ebb and flow, and ever enduring power, And central peace, subsisting at the heart Of endless Agitation.

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.

The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.

Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

Great men have been among us; hands that penn'd And tongues that utter'd wisdom--better none

The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.

But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.

But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.

Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.

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.

A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.

The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.

There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.

But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.

What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.

Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.

We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.

Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.

But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.

And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.

In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.

A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.

By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

Rest and be thankful.

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.

Faith is a passionate intuition.

'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!