Top 480 Quotes & Sayings by William Wordsworth - Page 2

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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!

The memory of the just survives in Heaven.

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

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

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.

And I am happy when I sing.

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

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

Love betters what is best

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.

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?

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

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; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.

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

But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.

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.

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.

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

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.

Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.

Rest and be thankful.

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

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

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

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

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.

A brotherhood of venerable trees.

Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

May books and nature be their early joy!

There is creation in the eye.

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

O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!

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

A tale in everything.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

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

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.

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

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

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

Books are the best type of the influence of the past.

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