There is a comfort in the strength of love; ‘Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTHTrue beauty dwells in deep retreats, Till heart with heart in concord beats, and the lover is beloved.
More William Wordsworth Quotes
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together. Humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
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And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.
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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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A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard. Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
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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.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH -
A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer’s joy.
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Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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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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Memories -images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.
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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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Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
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Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
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Often in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.
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Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.
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Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.
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One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.
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But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
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Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
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And we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
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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.
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Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
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Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
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Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH