William Wordsworth


English Poet

Author Quotes

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

The sounding cataract haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, the mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, their colours and their forms, were then to me 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.

There is One great society alone on earth: The noble living and the noble dead.

Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock of history?

To begin, begin.

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame and even the motion of our human blood almost suspended, we are laid asleep in body, and become a living soul: while with an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary till the fatal bolt is shot!

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

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.

Poetry contains a natural delineation of human passions, human characters, and human incidents.

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; and humble cares, and delicate fears; a heart, the fountain of sweet tears; and love and thought and joy.

Some sipping punch, some sipping tea, but, as you by their faces see, all silent and all damned!

Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven this minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; the rueful conflict, the heart riven with vain endeavor, and memory of earth's bitter leaven effaced forever.

The budding rose above the rose full blown.

The gods approve the depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.

The monumental pomp of age was with this goodly personage; a stature undepressed in size, unbent, which rather seemed to rise in open victory o'er the weight of seventy years, to loftier height.

The stars are mansions built by nature's hand, and, haply, there the spirits of the blest dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal rest.

There neither is, nor can be any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition.

Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.

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

unwearied in that service: rather say with warmer love, oh! With far deeper zeal of holier love. Now wilt thou then forget, that after many wanderings, many years of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, and this green pastoral landscape, were to me more dear, both for themselves, and for thy sake.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide into a lover's head! "o mercy!" to myself i cried, "if lucy should be dead!"

not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

Of vast circumference and gloom profound, This solitary Tree! A living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.

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English Poet