Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTHPleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
More William Wordsworth Quotes
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard. Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.
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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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My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
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Mathematics is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
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O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive!
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait – knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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My heart leaps up when I behold
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True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Till heart with heart in concord beats, and the lover is beloved.
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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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The ocean is a mighty harmonist.
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Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge – it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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May books and nature be their early joy!
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Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
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But He is risen, a later star of dawn.
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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.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH