Quotes from William Wordsworth

In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.

She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! —Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!

The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting...

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene, The memory of what has been, And never more will be.

From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.

Therefore, let the moon shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty-mountain winds be free to blow against thee.

In sleep I heard the northern gleams; The stars they were among my dreams; In sleep did I behold the skies

This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

All that we behold is full of blessings.

Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.

I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

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

The good die first.

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.

A deep distress hath humanised my soul.

Hence, in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea

Duty were our games.

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; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is the countenance of all science.

Look at you comforting others with the words you wish to hear.