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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.

William Wordsworth

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Moments Ourselves Silence

Bagwalas

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

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

Flower Freedom
Mathematics is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Creation Independent Intelligence Mathematics World
Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Habit Reflection Rule
Wisdom married to immortal verse.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Marriage Mortal Wisdom
And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Death Eyes Life Myself See Travel
But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Divine Grace Nature
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Glory Greatness Hard
We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Beginning Enough Future Joy Ourselves Present
Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Divine Woman
May books and nature be their early joy!
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Book Joy Nature
The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Born Flower Joy Thinking
He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Fear Feeling Future Healing Himself Love Past Spirit World
Faith is a passionate intuition.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Faith Passionate
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Breathe Heart Yourself
That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Eyes Solitude
The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Ourselves Power Waste World

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