William Wordsworth Quotes
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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.
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
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.
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.
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.
We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters.
The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
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.
The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.
Thought and theory must precede all action, that moves to salutary purposes. Yet action is nobler in itself than either thought or theory.
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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.
The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!
