William Wordsworth


English Poet

Author Quotes

Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on, through words and things, a dim and perilous way.

Truths that wake, to perish never.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, when such are wanted.

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.

O Silence! are Man's noisy years no more than moments of thy life?

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

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow for old, unhappy, far-off things, and battles long ago.

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.

Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.

Strength in what remains behind.

That time is past, and all its aching joys are now no more, and all its dizzy raptures. Not for this faint i, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts have followed; for such loss, I would believe, abundant recompense. For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue. And 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; a motion and a spirit, that impels all thinking things, all objects of all thought, and rolls through all things. Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth; of all the mighty world of eye, and ear,?both what they half create, and what perceive; well pleased to recognize in nature and the language of the sense, the anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, the guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul of all my moral being.

The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.

The little unremembered acts of kindness and love are the best parts of a person's life.

The reason firm, the temperate will, endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; perfect woman, nobly planned, to warn, to comfort, and command.

There are in our existence spots of time that with distinct pre-eminence retain a renovating virtue, whence . . . our minds are nourished and invisibly repaired.

Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum of things forever speaking. That nothing of itself will come, but we must still be seeking?

Three years she grew in sun and shower, then nature said, 'a lovelier flower on earth was never sown; this child I to myself will take; she shall be mine, and I will make a lady of my own.?

Turning, for them who pass, the common dust of servile opportunity to gold.

We must be free or die who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake, the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.

Nor, perchance, if I were not thus taught, Should I the more suffer my genial spirits to decay: for thou art with me here upon the banks of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that 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 e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is full of blessings.

O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, how often has my spirit turned to thee!

One impulse from a vernal wood may teach you more of man, of moral evil and of good, than all the sages can.

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.

Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

Society became my glittering bride.

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English Poet