William Wordsworth Quotes | Quotes by William Wordsworth

the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
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A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food;...
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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.
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O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live,
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What though the radiance which was once so bright Be not forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; Grief not, rather find, Strength in what remains behind, In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be, In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of Human suffering, In the faith that looks through death In years that bring philophic mind.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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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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Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.
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Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, Like London with its own black wreath,
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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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The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benedictions.
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A slumber did my spirit seal;/ I had no human fears:/ She seemed a thing that could not feel/ The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force;/ She neither hears nor sees;/ Rolled round in earth's diurnal course. . .
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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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A mind forever voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.
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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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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.
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As high as we have mounted in delight,In our dejection do we sink as low.
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And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the lawIn calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie/ Couched on the bald top of an eminence.
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Many are our joysIn youth, but oh! what happiness to liveWhen every hour brings palpable accessOf knowledge, when all knowledge is delight,And sorrow is not there!
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A poet who has not produced a good poem before he is twenty-five, we may conclude cannot, and never will do so.
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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.
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For still, the more he works, the moreDo his weak ankles swell.
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Four years and thirty, told this very week,Have I been now a sojourner on earth,And yet the morning gladness is not goneWhich then was in my mind.
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