William Wordsworth Quotes, Heart Quotes, Clouds Quotes

The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.

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

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

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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.

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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

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

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A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.

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O dearer far than light and life are dear.

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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.

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Tags : William Wordsworth Quotes , Heart Quotes , Flames Quotes

Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.

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Tags : William Wordsworth Quotes , Sweet Quotes , Nature Quotes

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.

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

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Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

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

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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.

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The wealthiest man among us is the best

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It may be safely affirmed that there neither is, nor can be, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition.... They both speak by and to the same organs; the bodies in which both of them are clothed may be said to be of the same substance, their affections are kindred, and almost identical, not necessarily differing even in degree; Poetry sheds no tears "such as Angels weep," but natural and human tears; she can boast of no celestial ichor that distinguishes her vital juices from those of prose; the same human blood circulates through the veins of them both.

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Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.

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The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite; a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.

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Tags : William Wordsworth Quotes , Love Quotes , Passion Quotes