Quotes By William Wordsworth

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 things which I have seen I now can see no more.

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

The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.

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

Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

The child is father of the man.

A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.

What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.

That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.

The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

To begin, begin.

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

Faith is a passionate intuition.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

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.

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.

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.